


Absolutely Still

by nooelgallagher



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, And instead it became this beast, Angst, Basically they don't like each other and then they like each other, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, I have no self control apparently, I'm so sorry, M/M, The whole back half is nothing but tooth rotting fluff with a tad bit of melancholy, This is totally self-indulgent, This was supposed to be like 10k max
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-13
Updated: 2015-11-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 12:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 27,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5205284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nooelgallagher/pseuds/nooelgallagher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was a challenge by Chelsea (yoursongonmyheart).</p><p>AU where Harry and Louis live in the same building but have never met. A twist of fate thanks to mutual friend Liam finds them spending an entire weekend together on a romantic getaway in Dublin. The only problem is they hate each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Absolutely Still

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written and completed in over 2 years. This also the first time I have ever written fanfiction. Ever.
> 
> This is a completely self-indulgent fic that took on a life of its own. It was never meant to be this long. It wasn't supposed to end up like this. I am so, so sorry.
> 
> Title from the Better Than Ezra song Absolutely Still.

Louis receives the text on a Tuesday afternoon at 4:13, just as he’s slinging his messenger bag over his shoulder and grabbing his keys. He doesn’t get a good read in as he locks up his office and walks down the mostly-deserted hallway, half his brain still on catching the 4:28 tube home. A few students are lingering in the common area, two of them Year Thirteens he has on his roster.

“Hey, Mr. Tomlinson!” one of them – Joe – yells to him.

Louis waves and smiles but doesn’t pause. “Hello! Have to catch the tube! See you all tomorrow!” he yells as he passes, and then he’s out the door.

Louis’ bag bounces against his waist as he power walks to Holborn Station. He skips down the steps and swipes his Oyster card at exactly 4:25 pm, and he breathes a sigh of relief at not having to wait around for the next train. His good mood is short-lived, however, when a woman with a Coach bag the size of a football makes a sharp turn around him and jabs him in the stomach. He feels the air leave his lungs momentarily and before he can hurl a well-timed insult about no concealed weapons on the Underground, she’s gone in a flurry of clacking high heels.

Louis is still rubbing his stomach in irritation as he snags a sought-after seat on the train. It’s rush hour (but when is it not rush hour in London, really?) and seats are hard to come by, so Louis thanks whatever guardian angel that monitors the Underground for ensuring that he got a seat.

It’s his phone buzzing in his pocket that reminds Louis of the mostly-unread text sitting on his phone. He carefully pulls his phone from his pocket, successfully avoiding stabbing the pensioner to his right with his elbow. He unlocks his phone to reveal he has another missed text.

Louis is surprised to see both texts are in the same conversation, but he only recognizes one of the numbers. The first text is from Liam – his friend, landlord, and one-time personal trainer (if he wanted Liam to remain the first two things, the last one had to go).

The text reads: _Hey lads! Good news! Well, for one of you… Work gave me a free weekend at this b &b in Dublin but I can’t use it. Whichever one of you manages to get me the special edition Endgame that just came out gets the trip! Happy hunting!_

The next two lines are filled with a bunch of random emojis, including balloons, streamers, martini glasses, and one oddly placed banana.

Louis ponders briefly how Liam managed to send a text without a single typo when his eyes flow to the next text, this one from the number he doesn’t recognize.

_Liam, you’re a nerd, but challenge accepted!_

It has only one emoji, two clinking pint glasses. Louis rereads the texts over another time and furrows his eyebrows. First of all, who’s the random person Liam offered the trip to? Second of all, what the fuck is Endgame? Louis heaves a sigh at the realization he needs to actually talk to Liam, but the tube is too crowded and loud to call him and he doesn’t feel like typing out an entire text. He shoves his phone back into his pocket and braces himself for the stop at Oxford Circus and the subsequent fight to get through the tube doors before they shut on his arm. That has happened once already, thank you very much, though Louis would never admit it.

When Louis reemerges from the Underground, he’s hit with the beginning spritzes of a cool rain. Fortunately Louis’ flat is a short walk from the station, otherwise he’d have been drenched quite a few times walking to and from it over the last eighteen months. As he walks down the sidewalk, avoiding a man on a bicycle wearing questionable amounts of purple spandex, he breathes in the fresh air and smell of a curry shop on the other side of the road. Sometimes the air breaks through the smog long enough for Louis to really breathe in London, and in those moments he is reminded why he moved here to begin with.

The thing is, Louis adores London, even if he doesn’t always adore the people in it. He also adores his flat. He’d thought he’d died and gone to heaven when Liam said he would be taking his inheritance and turning the spacious townhome his grandparents left him into two flats and would Louis be interested in renting one. He’d jumped at the chance to live in the area and Liam was charging him a very reasonable rate to live there. Any reservations he’d had about mixing his and Liam’s friendship with business were quickly dispelled. In the year and a half Louis had been living there, Liam had only ever been a very fair landlord. He’d gotten the hot water problem addressed right away when it went out when Louis first moved in, replaced the refrigerator when it was recalled, and never commented on the state of the flat when he came over to see Louis just as a friend. Louis stuck to his end of the lease and Liam stuck to his, and so far there had never been any issues. Louis could imagine living there very comfortably for quite some time.

As Liam’s friend and first tenant, Louis had gotten to choose between the upstairs and downstairs flats. Living on the bottom meant he could occasionally hear his neighbor upstairs walking around (along with a very strange playlist mixing the Rolling Stones and the Spice Girls), but ultimately Louis knew he wanted access to the back porch and small garden without having to go out the main back door. Liam had installed a small, private door off the master bedroom that let him leave the flat without having to go out into the hallway. This meant he could come and go as he pleased and no one was any the wiser.

The other thing Louis loves about his flat is the open floor plan. The one thing Louis had been absolutely adamant about upon moving into it was that he wanted space and was not going to fill it up with random shit. Not only was this the first flat he would be living in on his own and could therefore decorate however he wanted, but having grown up with four little sisters and all of their assorted belongings, Louis felt entitled to a bit of room.

Louis’ kitchen island separates the kitchen from the living room and that is where he tosses his bag as soon as he walks through the door. From the island he can see his large, plush sofa that had cost way more than it was worth but he sacrificed the money for the comfort of lounging on the equivalent of a cloud. The dark maroon arm chair was a gift from his mum and Dan as a housewarming present. The dark cherry coffee table in front of the couch was Niall’s contribution. Liam’s was the guarantee (in writing) that Louis he could put holes in the wall to hang things up and Liam wouldn’t charge him a damage fee when he eventually moves. Off the living room and kitchen is a small hallway that leads to Louis’ bedroom, the bathroom, and a smaller bedroom that Louis uses to store his elliptical and a desk for a workspace. It’s not enormous, but it’s Louis’, and he’s grateful he’s able to afford it at all. When Stan first saw it he threw around the word posh a bit more than Louis would have liked, but given the area, he knew he didn’t have much ground to stand on.

Louis kicks his shoes off next to the island and pulls his phone from his pocket. He unlocks it, seeing no more missed texts. He swipes to his contacts to call Liam.

Liam answers on the third ring. “Tommo!”

“Payno!” Louis greets back in the same tone. “Mind telling me what the fuck that text was?”

Louis hears him chuckle and then the tapping of a keyboard. Liam must still be at work, then. A glance at his microwave clock tells Louis it’s not quite 5 o’clock. “I told you! Free trip from work that I can’t use.”

“Yeah, and why is that?” Louis asks skeptically. It’s not like Liam to turn down a freebie.

More clicking. “It’s got to be within the next three weeks and Soph is working. It’ll be a waste if no one uses it.”

“So why not just give it to someone?”

“I am.”

“No, you’re making me and some random person battle it out for it.”

“Harry.”

“What?”

“Harry is the other person. Your neighbor?”

Louis pauses his assault of scratching at a small mark on his island. He’s not sure where it came from but it was probably Niall’s fault. “His name is Harry?”

He hears Liam give a long-suffering sigh down the line before he puts on his parent voice. “Honestly, Louis. The guy has lived over you for eight months. How is it you’ve never even met him?”

“I’m a very busy person, Liam,” Louis replies, now walking over to his fridge to see if there is anything he can scrounge for dinner or if he’ll have to get takeaway.

“With what, catching up on The X Factor and bar hopping with Niall?” Liam asks in a tone that leaves no room to question if he’s happy about Louis’ hobbies.

“You’re with us more often than not, Payno,” Louis reminds him. He spots some shredded cheddar cheese. Nachos? Does he have tortilla chips? “Thank God Sophia doesn’t keep you trapped on the reservation.”

“Someone needs to keep up with Niall’s binging. And stop trying to change the subject!” Louis hears a chair creak, like Liam is leaning back in his high-backed ergonomic chair with padded arm rests. The life of a financial advisor, honestly. “Sometimes you lock yourself in that flat and I don’t know why. I don’t think you even know what Harry looks like.”

Louis thinks for a moment. “Is he blonde?”

“No.”

“Then, no, you’re right, I don’t.” Louis has some tortilla chips buried in his cupboard, but an experimental nibble tells him they’re stale. Takeaway it is.

Liam sighs again and Louis can practically feel him roll his eyes. “Whatever, fine. You want to be a hermit. Suit yourself. If you’re not going to use the trip, what about your mum and Dan? Weren’t you looking for an anniversary present for them?”

Louis pauses his perusal of his various takeaway menus. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” he settles on saying.

Liam chuckles again. “I know. So, get your ass in gear and get that comic book before Harry does and all your problems will be solved.”

“Oh, so that’s what Endgame is? A comic book?”

“ _Louis_ ,” Liam warns.

“I thought it was going to be something even nerdier. Well done, mate.”

“I’m hanging up now!”

“Love you. Bye,” Louis answers before ending the call and holding up a menu for an Italian takeout restaurant. He wonders if he can get the buy one get one half off pasta deal without getting judgment from the delivery guy when he realizes it’s for one.

\---

So figuring out where to get this limited edition Batman comic Liam is after turns out to be more of a headache than Louis anticipates. The first problem is that it has already been out for a week (thanks, Liam) and so everyone who wanted a copy has pretty much already exhausted the supply. Louis calls every comic book store near his job, then expands the search to near his flat when that comes up empty. He spends almost his entire lunch break trying to track down just one damn copy. He begins to wonder if it’s worth all the aggravation and if he should just give his mum and Dan a gift certificate to go out to dinner when he reaches the next store on his (admittedly short) list.

A guy with a slow, lazy drawl answers. “Star Comics, Zayn speaking.”

“Hi,” Louis greets. “I was wondering if you might have a copy of Endgame in stock? I know it’s limited edition-”

“We do,” Zayn cuts him off. “You’re in luck. I have one left.”

Louis breathes a sigh. “Awesome. Would you be able to put that on hold for me until I can get there this afternoon?”

“Actually,” Zayn begins, and Louis can already feel a “but” coming. “We don’t reserve copies of limited edition or rare items because they’re in such high demand. Unless they’re pre-ordered. I’m sorry.”

Louis takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “It’s fine. Do you think it’ll still be there this afternoon?”

“Hard to say,” Zayn answers. “The mad rush is over. You’re the first person to inquire about it in a few days, so I think you have a good chance.”

“Great,” Louis replies, though he doesn’t feel all that enthusiastic anymore.

“If you’d like I could take your name and number and if it somehow sells before you get here I’ll give you a call so you don’t waste a trip. Do you live far?”

“No but I’m about ten minutes away on the tube, since I’ll probably come from straight from work.”

“I don’t think you’ll have a problem, then. But just in case.”

“Sure,” Louis replies. “Thank you for offering. My name is Louis. Louis Tomlinson.”

Louis hears some scribbling. “Got it. And your number?”

After Louis recites his number to Zayn, he’s assured that if the comic goes before Louis can get to the store, Zayn will give him a call. Otherwise, he’ll see Louis that afternoon.

Louis hangs up feeling slightly better that he almost has a copy secured, but he’s looking forward to just getting it all over and done with. And wonders why Liam couldn’t get the fucking comic for himself.

\---

Star Comics turns out to be this hole-in the-wall little shop that looks every bit the comic book store stereotype: posters and action figures make up most of the window displays, as well as one cardboard cutout of Superman wearing a Santa hat. A surprisingly new-looking sign completes the front décor, yellow lettering with a bold red outline declaring the store to be Star Comics, a welcoming bright glow in the grey, damp afternoon. Louis admires Superman Santa for another moment before grabbing hold of the faded bronze door handle and stepping into the shop.

The first thing Louis notices is the stereo playing the soundtrack to Star Wars. As his eyes adjust to the darker lighting, he smells the faint, lingering scent of incense covering up an older but still identifiable trace of marijuana. He grins and looks around, his eyes settling on the front desk.

A young guy, probably around Louis’ age, is spinning back and forth in a stool, a telephone perched to his ear. He notices Louis has entered the store and mouths, “Can I help you?” at him. Louis can hear a muffled shout come through the receiver and sees the guy grimace.

Louis walks to the desk so he doesn’t have to shout across the room. Up close, he can see the guy is wearing faded black jeans and a Batman shirt that looks like it could have been a size too small. Around the guy’s neck is a lanyard attached to a set of keys and a laminated name tag stating his name is Zayn. A truly impressive assortment of drawings surrounds his name, colorful doodles of logos and caricatures.

“I’m Louis,” Louis says in a low voice.

Zayn’s eyes alight with recognition and he nods. “Just a moment,” he mouths and holds up a finger. The shouting continues down the line.

Louis smiles and steps back. He wanders over to a display of Spiderman comics. Novelty toys form a border around the shelving, as well as some Spiderman-themed candy like lollipops, candy bars, and even a few white candy webs.

It’s as Louis is looking at this display that two things happen simultaneously. The first is that Zayn finally hangs up the phone, breathing out an exhausted, relieved huff of air. The second is that the door to the shop opens, the bell above it tingling with the disturbance, and another customer walks through the door.

Louis turns around just in time to see another guy step through the doorway and let the door clink shut behind him. He runs a hand through his shoulder-length curly hair and shakes out the damp strands. He’s tall and lanky, wearing black jeans, brown Chelsea boots, and a black peacoat. He also has a pair of aviators perched on his face in spite of the fact that there’s absolutely no sun out this afternoon. Louis’s brain screams _pretentious hipster_ as the guy strolls into the shop and walks up to the counter.

“Hi,” Zayn greets. “Can I help you?”

“I hope so,” the new guy answers. His voice is deep, fuck. Louis can feel it rattle his bones. He decides to remind Zayn of his presence so he follows the guy up to the counter. “I’m looking for a comic book for a friend of mine that just came out about a week ago.”

Louis freezes behind the guy, his mind an ongoing replay of no no no no no no no.

“What comic?” Zayn asks.

“Endgame,” the guy answers and _fuck no_.

“Sorry, mate, but I’m just about to buy the last copy,” Louis inserts himself.

Harry turns around and raises his eyebrows, taking Louis in as though he had no idea there was no one else in the shop even though there’s no way he missed Louis standing there when he walked in.

“Excuse me?” he finally says, his voice a slow, deep drawl as his gaze narrows in on Louis. Louis notices his bright green eyes and the cut of his jawline, tensed as he focuses his attention on Louis.

The fact that the guy is physically looking _down_ at him only forces Louis to pull himself up to his full height and narrow his own eyes. “I was waiting for Zayn here to finish up with his call. I called today about Endgame. I’m getting it for a friend as well, and I was here first.”

At first, the guy looks like he’s going to argue, but then his eyes widen. “Are you Liam’s friend?” he asks, suddenly sounding like everything has clicked into place.

It’s about that moment that things start clicking into place for Louis as well. “Wait, wait. Are you Harry?”

A small grin spreads over the guy’s lips and he nods. He runs a hand through his hair again and little drops of water still clinging to the strands sparkle under the florescent lighting overhead. “I am.”

“Well this is fucking fantastic,” Louis says, groaning. He does a full spin on the spot. Zayn looks on with interest between the two men. “What are the chances we’d both end up here at the exact same time?”

Harry shrugs, the fabric of his jacket crinkling with the movement. “I don’t know. But I do know that only one of us can get that comic.”

“I was here first,” Louis reminds him. He feels petty, but it’s _true_.

“Yeah, but have you purchased it yet?” Harry asks, grin widening when he sees Louis’ eyes narrow again. “Thought so. So, we have a bit of a conundrum, don’t we?”

“No, actually, we don’t,” Louis hisses. “You got here after me, and if Zayn had been able to do the transaction when I walked in the door, I would have been well on my way long before you got here.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re really going to play it that way?”

“If it means getting that comic so Liam will give me the trip, then yes,” Louis nods. “Sorry.”

Harry purses his lips. He turns to Zayn, who is leaning over the desk with his chin in his hand. “Did he reserve the copy of the comic? If he did, I’ll back out.”

Zayn’s eye flit between Harry and Louis, suddenly looking awkward. “Well, no,” he says, running his free hand over the plastic cover on the desk that locks in random photos and comic covers. “I mean, Louis was here first, but as I told him on the phone earlier, we don’t reserve copies without a pre-order.”

Harry smiles and then turns to Louis again, who can feel his cheeks start to flush in irritation. “So, neither of us owns the comic yet, which means the trip is still fair game.”

“I have an idea,” Louis says. “You could act your age and be mature and admit that I was here first, so I get the comic and I get the trip.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Why don’t you _act your age and be mature_ and admit that saying _I was here first_ is stupid and juvenile. You didn’t buy the comic yet, and neither did I. It’s not fair for one to walk away with it when we’re both here.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “So let’s call Liam, then,” he says, already pulling his phone from his pocket. He looks at Harry. “Is that okay with you, Curly?”

Harry waves a hand as if to say _go on_ , and gives a glance at Zayn, who is still watching the exchange with rapt interest.

This time, Liam picks up on the second ring. “Hey, Lou! What’s up, mate?”

“I have a bit of a problem, Liam,” he says without greeting. He makes eye contact with Harry, who is now looking at him with a very amused and _condescending_ stare. “Thanks to your little game.”

“Oh no,” Liam says. “What happened?”

“I’m standing at the front desk of a comic book store with Harry.”

“Oh,” Liam says, and he doesn’t continue.

Louis gives him another couple of seconds to offer another comment. When he doesn’t get one, he says, “That’s it? That’s all I get? _Oh_?”

“Did you guys both buy the comic?” Liam asks, his voice wavering a bit on the question.

“No, _Leeyum_ ,” Louis replies. “There’s only one left. And even though I was here first, Harry seems to think that because neither of us made the purchase yet it’s not fair for me to take it.”

“Well, Louis-”

“I’m not exactly sure what to do here, Liam.”

“Louis-”

“So I sincerely hope you have a Plan B.”

“Is Harry right there?”

“Yes.”

“Put me on speaker.”

Louis rolls his eyes and taps the speaker icon on his phone. He holds it up in the air between Harry and himself. “Okay, Liam. Go ahead.”

“Hi, Harry!” Liam greets. Louis wants to punch him.

“Hi Liam,” Harry replies, giggling a little bit. Louis wants to punch him too.

“So, uh… I don’t really know what to do here, guys. I didn’t think you guys would end up in this situation. At all. And obviously I only have the one trip.”

“You’re going to have to pick, Liam,” Louis tells him.

“How am I supposed to do that?” Liam asks, sounding a bit annoyed now, which isn’t _that_ a fucking riot.

“I have no fucking clue, Liam,” Louis snaps. “Pick a number between one and ten. Or we’ll rock paper scissors it. But I’m not going to stand around in front of Zayn all afternoon because you’re having a morality crisis.”

“Zayn?”

“The comic book store guy who’s been listening to this entire conversation like we’re on bloody Hollyoaks.”

Harry barks a laugh at that but quickly composes himself, giving Louis a completely innocent look as Louis shoots a death glare in his direction.

“Oh,” Liam replies. He pauses for another moment. “Look, Louis. I get it. I’m sorry. I didn’t think this through. But I don’t think it’s fair to pick between you.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how to pick. I don’t think it’s fair.”

“So basically what you’re saying is, you don’t have a solution,” Louis surmises, feeling his blood really begin to boil. He needs to remember to smash an extra large hole in the wall in his living room before he moves out.

“Well, I have an idea, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Try us,” Harry pipes up, cutting in before Louis can make another comment.

Liam pauses, clearly bracing himself for what he thinks will be a negative reaction. “You could go together?” he suggests.

It takes a beat before both Harry and Louis respond at the same time.

“Fuck that!” Louis nearly shouts as Harry goes, “Out of the question.”

“Guys, I just don’t know what to do here. I don’t want to jip you guys out of getting the trip, but it’s for a couple.”

“We’re not a couple,” Louis points out unnecessarily.

Harry rolls his eyes and goes, “Obviously.”

“I know that,” Liam says, “but isn’t it better than the whole trip going to waste?”

Louis wants to say no but the logical part of his brain prevents it. Whatever Liam’s job secured for the trip is sure to be amazing, no expense spared. It would be the perfect weekend getaway - for anyone else. Like his mum, who he needs this trip for.

“I’m not so sure about that,” Harry ventures to say. For once, Louis can agree with him.

“Do you want to think about it?” Liam asks. “Let me know if you change your minds.”

Louis breathes out an angry puff of air. He and Harry don’t break eye contact as he bites out, “Fine. We’ll let you know.”

“Okay,” Liam breathes. “Okay. I am sorry, guys.”

“Uh huh,” Louis says. As Harry continues to stare him down, he goes, “I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

“Okay. Bye!” Then the line goes dead.

Louis takes a deep breath and closes his eyes, pocketing his phone. When he opens them again, Harry is still staring at him. Rather than saying anything to him, he turns to Zayn. “Sorry about all that.”

To his surprise, Zayn breaks into a wide smile. He raises a tattooed hand to his face and pushes a few stray strands of hair back over his forehead. “Oh, no worries. You guys just gave me my afternoon entertainment. It’s usually dead this time of day in here.”

“Glad to be of service,” Harry says. He turns to look at Zayn. “Well, thank you for your...help.” He smiles at him, his cheeks dimpling and showing off perfect white teeth. “Have a good afternoon.”

“You too!” Zayn replies as Harry turns to leave. Then, he turns to Louis. “I hope you guys manage to figure it out.”

Louis adjusts the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He manages to give Zayn a genuine smile. “Thanks. Have a good one.”

Louis turns to follow Harry out of the shop. As they reach the door, they hear Zayn call, “Wait!”

They both turn to give him a questioning look.

Zayn suddenly looks sheepish. “Do, uh, either of you still want the comic?”

\---

The next ten minutes are perhaps the ten most awkward minutes of Louis’ life, and that includes the ten minutes it took to convince his mum when he was seventeen that no, he and Stan were not dating, Stan was and is very straight, and so if Stan stayed the night she really had nothing to worry about. Stan was in the room at the time and nearly laughed himself to death.

Harry and Louis end up riding the tube back to their flats together, more out of logistics than any real desire to spend extra time with each other. They don’t speak on the tube or the walk back to their flats, but are confronted by the fact that they have not come to a conclusion regarding the trip and therefore they need to come to an understanding.

Louis unlocks the front door and they both step into the vestibule. Louis shivers a bit from the cold mist that accompanied them on their walk home. Harry at least has removed his sunglasses and he pats his peacoat to get rid of the pearls of moisture clinging to the wool. They stand opposite each other for a moment, eyeing each other suspiciously and neither eager to break the silence.

It seems that Harry does not have much love for awkward silences (Louis could let this drag on for hours if need be) because the next moment he lets out a sigh and tangles a hand in the curls at the nape of his neck. “Look, Louis, I think you know just as well as I do that it would be really shitty for just one of us to take the trip.”

Louis may be an asshole, but he’s cooled down enough to be able to admit that, yes, technically he and Harry both got to the store at about the same time, even if he was physically there first, so one of them taking the trip isn’t exactly fair. He doesn’t say that though, just gives a short jerk of his head to acknowledge Harry’s assertion.

Harry nods himself and continues. “I don’t really fancy letting Liam give this trip away to someone else, either. I had my own plans for it…” He stops himself short, shaking his head. “But I guess that doesn’t matter. The point is, if you think we could survive thirty six hours without killing each other, our best bet is to just go. Together.”

Louis bites his lower lip and glances away. Rain has started to hit the windowpane in earnest, little tap tap taps against the door. He takes a breath and looks back at Harry who is watching him intently, green eyes darting around Louis’ face probably trying to gauge Louis’ reaction. Louis wipes his face of expression, giving Harry a blank look as he replies. “I had my own plans for this trip, too. But since that doesn’t seem like it is going to happen, I guess the next best option is to use it ourselves.”

A brief smile flashes over Harry’s face before he schools it again. “We split everything evenly. Agreed?”

“Agreed.” Louis holds out his hand and oh shit that was a bad idea. Harry takes his hand in his enormous bear paw and gives it a firm shake, Harry’s hand feeling like it completely dwarfs his own. Fortunately, Harry takes a step back a second later and takes his hand with him.

“Do you want to tell Liam or should I?” Harry asks, already taking backward steps to the stairwell that leads to his own flat.

“I’ll tell him,” Louis lets out on a breath, eyeing up his door. “I think I need to have a few words with Mr. Payne, friend to friend.”

“Okay,” Harry says, nodding. “We’ll touch base about the trip. Any weekend works for me.” Then he turns on his heel and heads up the stairs, his long legs taking two at a time.

Louis waits until he hears Harry’s door unlock and then open and shut behind him before he turns to his own door. Instead of unlocking it, he bangs his forehead against it a few times.

\---

Two weeks pass with Louis managing to avoid Harry completely. It isn’t without effort, though. Louis wonders how he managed to miss Harry all this time when their schedules seem to match perfectly. Louis is up by 7 and out the door by 7:30, all to ensure he catches the 7:45 tube to work. The first time Louis realizes that Harry is up and moving at the same time he is is the day after their comic book mishap. Louis has a mug of tea in one hand and his phone in the other, scrolling through his Instagram feed, when he notices the footsteps overhead. He eats a slice of toast and pulls on his shoes at the same time, about ready to grab his coat and head out when he hears footsteps on the stairs and the front door opening. The only other person it could be is Harry, so how did Louis not notice him for eight months?

Louis forgets all about it until he arrives home that afternoon. He’s putting the key in his lock when he hears music echo down the stairs from Harry’s flat. He also hears a vacuum going across the floor. Harry beat him home. No, not home - back to the building. Louis orders pizza, turns on the TV as loud as he can to drown out the movement upstairs, and doesn’t leave his flat for the rest of the night.

The next weeks continue in much of the same pattern: Louis does his morning routine and listens to Harry do his, Harry always beating him out the door in a matter of minutes. A few times he beats Harry back, but not by much. It’s like the universe has granted him some relief in not having to confront Harry. They will be spending a lot of time together in the near future without having to make awkward small talk in the vestibule.

Of course, the relief is short lived, and the weekend getaway courtesy of Liam’s work is upon Louis faster than he realizes. Louis packs all of his stuff the Thursday before they are due to leave, so when Friday afternoon rolls around, Louis has no choice but to double check that he has everything and wait for the car that will take them to the train. From the train, they will catch a ferry to Dublin and then another car will take them to the bed and breakfast that will be their home for the next 48 hours. Liam’s work had organized the whole thing, from the rail and sail tickets to Dublin to the activities they had waiting for them when they arrived. On paper, the trip looks great. In reality, Louis does not know how he will fare spending that much time in close quarters with a man he barely knows.

At 1:00, he receives a phone call from an unknown number. Upon answering, he learns that it’s the car company and his and Harry’s ride is waiting outside. As he gathers his overnight bag and his messenger bag, he hears the tell-tale signs of Harry’s footsteps coming down the stairs. He wonders if Harry had to arrange to leave work early to get home on time. Louis had to forgo his usual afternoon planning and left work after lunch in order to get home to get ready. He’s not too bothered, to be honest.

No point in delaying the inevitable, he figures. He leaves his flat and locks the door behind him. Harry is out on the curb loading his bags into the boot of the car. Louis joins him, giving a him a cursory nod and a polite “hello” before adding his own bags. He’s surprised to see they match - they’re different colors, Louis going for the traditional black and Harry for the plaid olive, but they’re both undeniably from the same London Fog line. Louis briefly wonders if he should comment on it, but Harry has already moved on to speak to the driver, so Louis just shuts the boot.

Their driver is named Rob; he’s forty, single, and loves Dublin, apparently. Harry and Louis learn all of that before they even get in the car. Rob explain that he’ll be driving them to Euston Station (Louis wonders why they couldn’t just take the tube, but apparently they’re traveling high class this weekend). From there they will catch a train to Holyhead, and from there the ferry to Dublin. All in all, it’s a lot of traveling for an afternoon: five hours to Holyhead, followed by another two to Dublin (Louis bitterly thinks that if Liam’s company could spring for a car couldn’t they spring for a plane ticket, but he guesses that might be asking too much). All in all, he’s looking at seven hours of travel with Harry alone. How is he supposed to survive the 36 that follow once they finally get to Dublin?

The ride to Euston Station is short - too short. Rob is a complete chatterbox and he fills what would be the otherwise awkward silence between the two men. Louis plays on his phone, knowing he’ll regret it when his phone inevitably dies before they even reach the ferry. Harry indulges Rob; he laughs and smiles at Rob’s corny jokes, inquires about life as a driver for Liam’s company, and is the picture perfect image of charming. It’s fucking annoying, is what it is.

When Rob drops them at Euston station, he bids them farewell and tells them to have fun on their romantic getaway. Before either of them can correct him, he’s hopped back into the car and is attempting to merge back into traffic. Harry and Louis are left to hoist up their bags and navigate the steady stream of pre-rush hour at the station. Louis pulls the itinerary he printed from the email Liam sent him from his pocket to see what train they are supposed to catch. It supposedly departs at exactly 2:00 and it’s 1:50. When he glances at Harry, he sees Harry looking up at the departure board.

“It’s Track 1,” Harry says without looking at Louis. Looks like someone memorized the itinerary. What a special snowflake.

Louis grunts an acknowledgment and looks at the signs directing travelers to the tracks. Track 1 is across the station from where they’re standing because of course it is. He might accidentally on purpose step on a man’s foot who cuts in front of him and literally just stops. Louis has places to be, after all.

There are already quite a few people lingering on Track 1, steering clear of the yellow line painted on the ground. The awkward silence washes over them like a blanket as they stand next to a lit up board detailing the Underground map. This is what Louis was afraid of, the blatant discomfort. It’s not like Louis doesn’t like talking. He loves talking. Excels at it. But what is he supposed to say to someone he doesn’t know? Let alone some guy who tried to steal his rightfully-won trip. He hopes Harry isn’t someone who is easily disconcerted by silence, because he thinks there is going to be a lot of it over the next few hours.

When the bell signaling the arrival of the train and the robotic female voice echoes over the intercom telling everyone that the train is arriving and to mind the gap finally burst into life on the track, Louis breathes a sigh. Standing around with Harry, clearly traveling with him but not having a goddamn thing to say, might set him over the edge more than Harry’s irritating personality.

Harry gets onto the train first and he secures them two seats next to each other. He places his luggage on the rack above their seats. He turns to face Louis and asks, “Do you want me to put yours up too? I don’t think there’s room to hold it.”

“Sure. Thanks,” Louis replies, lifting it up from the seat he placed it on and handing it to Harry, who places it next to his luggage with ease. “Do you, uh, prefer the window?”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t care. Do you want it?”

Louis shakes his head. “It’s fine.” He sits down in the seat next to the aisle. It’s 1:57 and the fact that he knows he won’t be arriving to the bed and breakfast until late tonight causes a complete wave of exhaustion to wash over him. He longs to be back at his flat with some Chinese and a Walking Dead marathon. Or hell, even at work, meeting with a kid who felt the need to curse out a teacher.

Harry doesn’t say anything after that. Louis watches from the corner of his eye as he pulls a battered paperback novel ( _Women_ by Charles Bukowski) from his own messenger bag as well as a pair of basic white earphones. So he’s not planning on talking to Louis, then. That’s actually some comfort. No need for awkward small talk. They can just sit in silence for the next five hours and be totally fine. Louis is totally fine.

An hour later, after running out of lives on both Candy Crush and Candy Crush Soda and draining about half of his battery, Louis’ stomach grumbles.

“Fuck,” he mutters to himself. Getting up requires movement, which is not something he is particularly into at the moment, but he also doesn’t want to arrive at Holyhead ravenous and bitchy (bitchier than he already is, anyway). Better to spend price on overpriced food on the train than on really overpriced food in Holyhead.

He glances at Harry. He still has his earphones in, his eyes darting back across his the page as he reads. Louis pauses for a moment before reaching out a hand and giving Harry a single poke on the arm.

Harry’s eyes dart up and settle on Louis. He looks a bit annoyed at being disturbed and pulls an earphone out. “Yeah?”

“I’m going to the snack cart,” Louis tells him. “Do you want anything?”

Harry bites his lower lip, looking contemplative for a moment. “Sure. Could you get me a water and a packet of crisps?” He leans down to his bag.

“What are you doing?” Louis asks, standing up.

“Getting my wallet. Money for the snacks,” Harry says, like it’s obvious.

Louis waves him off. “It’s fine.”

Harry shakes his head and goes for his wallet anyway. “No, I insist. The food on these things is overpriced.”

“Harry, it’s fine. You can pay me back later if you want.” The train takes a sharp turn and Louis grabs onto the back of his seat to stabilize. Fuck, he’s got to walk during this.

Harry shakes his head again and reemerges with his wallet in hand. “Here.” He reaches into his wallet and pulls out a tenner. “Whatever crisps is fine. I just need something salty.”

Louis takes the bill from Harry and nods. “Okay, sure. I’ll be back.” Harry already has his earphone back in place.

Louis sighs and pockets the bill, not wanting to drop it and then awkwardly stumble after it as the train rocks back and forth. He’s not sure which way the food cart is, but he walks towards the front of the train, thinking that is a safe bet.

His hunch turns out to be correct. He peruses the selection of crisps and finally decides on salt and vinegar for Harry. He seems like the type to like that kind. He selects a packet of plain for himself, as well as a croissant. He also takes two water bottles. It’s not really complete without a cup of Yorkshire, but Louis doesn’t fancy spilling hot tea down himself as he shuffles back to his seat on the moving train.

Harry is just where Louis left him when he gets back to their seats. He tosses the crisps onto Harry’s lap and sits back down, deciding to go for the croissant first. Harry thanks him and dog ears his page (Louis tries not to cringe. He hates when people do that), pulling his earphones from his ears. Louis thinks that maybe this is the part where they start talking, but it turns out that Harry is perfectly content to look out the window and munch on his crisps as Louis inhales his croissant. Harry gingerly sips at his water and looks at the scenery passing by outside. Louis isn’t used to silence like this, but he is determined to not be the one to break it. If Harry doesn’t want to talk, that’s totally fine.

The next four hours, Louis does everything he can to occupy himself. He reads half a book on his iPad. He listens to an entire CD on his phone, draining more of his battery but finding that it distracts him from the presence next to him that seems completely comfortable with pretending Louis is not even there. He thinks he dozes for about forty five minutes around five o’clock. Harry keeps reading his book.

Arriving in Holyhead is more of a relief than Louis would have originally anticipated, if for no other reason to get up and move around. His ass fell asleep during the last hour and a half of the journey and he’s hungry again. Harry pulls both of their luggage down from the rack above them, handing Louis’ off to him before he grabs his own. They join the throng of travelers shuffling down the aisle towards the train doors, more or less penguin-walking and holding tight to their bags.

The night is chilly when they emerge. The night air wakes him up as he pulls the hood of his hoodie up, protecting his ears from the wind coming off the sea. Next to him, Harry buttons his peacoat to the top of his throat, giving him the appearance of a hipster vampire. They move with the throng that is headed toward the port. The ferry leaves in a half hour, but Louis is looking forward to the walk to stretch his legs.

Louis goes to reach for the itinerary in his pocket, but then he remembers Harry seemed to already know their travel arrangements, so he leans close to him to talk over the din of fellow travelers moving around them. Harry smells like cinnamon. Louis doesn’t think about that. “Hey, do you know the ship we’re on?”

“Dublin Swift,” Harry answers, glancing at Louis. “It should put us in Dublin around 9:30.”

“Great,” Louis says. He doesn’t try to stifle a yawn that claws its way up his throat.

“Tired?” Harry asks, and Louis almost falls over because Harry is actually talking to him?

“A bit,” Louis answers. “Early day. Long one, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees, but he doesn’t offer anything more than that.

Louis decides he’d rather get some food on the ferry than anything at the port. “I’m just going to go find a bench or something to sprawl out on while we wait.”

“I think I’ll get a coffee,” Harry tells him. “Is it okay if I leave my bags with you?”

“Sure,” Louis answers.

“Do you, uh, want anything?” Harry asks.

Since Harry offered, Louis would kill for a cup of tea. “If you find any place that has Yorkshire, I’d love a cup.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, sure thing.”

Louis reaches into his pocket for the change from his snack bar excursion earlier and hands over a few bills to Harry. “I don’t know what’s there but it should be enough.”

Harry accepts the money with a jerk of his head. “I’ll be back.”

Louis waves him off, already focusing on the sounds of the other travelers moving around him. He’s a bit excited to get on this ferry, if he’s honest. He’s never been on it before. The one and only time he’s been to Dublin was on a school field trip when he was in the sixth form. He can’t quite remember what the point of the field trip was because he spent every night drinking straight from a flask that Stan had somehow hidden in his suitcase. This trip will be very different.

Harry reemerging from the crowd about ten minutes later with a steaming cup of Yorkshire tea is just about the best thing Louis has ever seen. He takes the cup gratefully, inhaling the steam filtering from the small slit in the lid.

“I wasn’t sure how you take it, but I brought sugar and cream,” Harry tells him, reaching into his pocket and holding out a couple packets of sugar and a few tiny plastic cups of creamer.

Louis smiles, a genuine one that says he’s not only grateful that Harry didn’t try to make his tea for him but for thinking to bring the items back. “Thanks,” he says, taking the proffered items. He goes about removing the lid and pouring in a cup and a half of cream. Harry just gives a small smile back and continues standing, watching the crowd of people move around them. They don’t move until the call that their ferry is boarding sounds over the loudspeaker.

Ultimately, their trip on the ferry continues much in the same way that the train trip did. They both get food but don’t talk much during. Louis isn’t sure if it’s because they’re tired or what, but they haven’t been bickering, which he thinks is a pretty big accomplishment. Fortunately the ferry across the Irish Sea is only an hour and forty nine minutes, as billed by Irish Ferries, and Louis is ready to just collapse in his bed at the bed and breakfast.

Dublin is alive and hopping when they get off the ferry, the port only a few miles from the center of the action. If Louis hadn’t been traveling all day he’d consider going to a pub or a club for a drink, but all he can think about is a shower and crawling into bed. They still have to check into the B&B, after all.

Louis takes it upon himself to call the car company that is supposed to meet them at the port to take them to the bed and breakfast. Louis could get used to being chauffeured around, but he almost wishes they could just get a cab to the bed and breakfast if it meant not having to wait for the car to show up.

Their driver is named Lachlan, and Louis has to bite his tongue to prevent himself from making some bitchy comment about how original that is. Harry is more subdued with this guy than Rob. Maybe he used up all his energy being friendly earlier. The ride to the bed and breakfast is short and Louis is grateful when they pull down a quiet side street to a beautiful three story home lit from the inside. Fairy lights line the porch and more lights line the pathway up to the front door.

Lachlan does not stick around once he helps Harry and Louis unload their bags from the boot. He gives them a quick farewell and hops back into the car. If Louis and Harry were talking more, he’d have made a comment about it, but he stays silent. He’s not used to that.

Louis is hopelessly charmed by the B&B the closer he gets to it. It feels warm, even from the outside. The bright green door sticks out from the white and red trim, making the whole house look like it’s perpetually decorated for Christmas. Louis doesn’t mind that aesthetic at all.

The house as just as warm inside as Louis thought. The heat is going, in spite of it only being October. A few scented candles are burning behind the front desk, at which a young girl of no more than twenty sits flipping through a magazine. When she sees the new arrivals, she tosses the magazine onto the desk and stands up, smiling.

“Hi!” she says, “Welcome to Adare O’Neill!”

“Hi,” Louis greets, walking to the counter and holding out a hand. “I’m Louis Tomlinson. We have a reservation for two nights.” He feels Harry walk up behind him and hears his bags plop to the floor.

“One moment,” she says. Louis sees her name tag; Lyla is her name. She jiggles the mouse of a Mac computer set to the side of the desk, probably getting the screen to come to life again. She does a bit of clicking and typing, and Louis and Harry stand there in silence taking in their surroundings. Louis sees what he thinks are chocolate chip cookies sitting on a plate next to a Keurig machine a few feet away on a table next to a few very comfortable-looking plush arm chairs. It’s inviting.

“Okay, Mr. Tomlinson,” Lyla begins. She smiles at him. “I have you here for Friday and Saturday night with a noon checkout on Sunday, is that correct?”

“Yes,” Louis answers.

“Great!” She does a bit more clicking. “We actually have a wedding this weekend and we’re completely booked, but you should be very comfortable in the Is breá suite.”

“Is breá…” Harry mutters from behind Louis. “I know that term.”

Lyla grins at him, and looks between Harry and Louis. “Well, I’d imagine so.”

Louis pinches his eyebrows. “Excuse me?”

Lyla keeps grinning. “Is breá,” she repeats. “It’s obvious it’s between you.”

Louis looks back at Harry, who looks just as confused as Louis feels. He turns to Lyla, who has gone back to confirming their check in. “I’m sorry, Lyla, but I don’t know what that means.”

She looks up from the computer. “Is breá?” she asks. “Oh, it means ‘love’ in Gaelic.”

Lyla might as well have dropped a bucket of ice cold water over his head for all Louis freezes in shock, wide-eyed and mouth open as Lyla goes back to the computer. He feels Harry frozen behind him as well. It takes him another few seconds before he clears his throat and shifts his weight from his left to right foot. “Oh, uh, Lyla… We’re not together.”

It’s Lyla’s turn to look shocked. “Oh, I’m sorry!” she says. “My apologies. It’s just you’re booked for the suite that normally houses couples.”

Louis hears Harry cough uncomfortably behind him. Louis bites his lip and says, “No one mentioned that when I made the reservation.”

Lyla looks a bit embarrassed as she scans the notes on their reservation. “I see your stay is linked through Johnson and Patrick. They typically reserve that suite for their employees.”

“My best friend works for them and he gifted...us this trip. He didn’t mention it was a... _romantic_ trip.”

Lyla blushes. “There’s a king size bed,” she admits. “And a hot tub.”

Louis feels his cheeks pink as well. He refuses to look back at Harry. “And there aren’t any other rooms available?” he tries.

Lyla shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Tomlinson. All the other rooms are reserved, most of them for the wedding.”

Louis sighs and rubs a hand through his hair, pushing his scruffy fringe back over his forehead and taking a deep breath. “Well, thank you for all your help. We’ll manage.”

Lyla smiles apologetically and grabs a tiny key card envelope from underneath the desk. She scribbles a number on top of it and slides it across the desk. “Your room is 304, on the top floor. You can take the stairs or the elevator which is just beyond the dining room.” She points behind Harry and Louis in the direction of the dining room in question. “The top floor is just suites, so it should be very quiet. Your itinerary courtesy of Johnson and Patrick is already in the room.”

Louis takes the envelope from the desk and gives her one last time. “Thank you, Lyla.”

“Thank you very much!” Harry tells her, his slow drawl settling in Louis’ bones like the scent of the vanilla candles burning behind Lyla and the soft lights from the track lighting bearing down on him.

They each grab their bags and turn towards each other. “Stairs or elevator?” Louis asks, praying Harry says elevator.

“Elevator,” Harry answers. “I’m too tired for stairs.”

“Thank God,” Louis mumbles, and he heads towards the dining room.

The elevator, as promised, lies just beyond the spacious dining room. Louis would take time to admire the beautiful wood table decorated with a large rose gold candelabra, but as it is, he’s too tired to give a shit.

The ride up to the third floor in the elevator is silent, as is the short walk from the elevator to their room. Louis unlocks the door with the key card and lets them into the room. Unsurprisingly, it’s huge. There is a large king size bed in the middle of the room, as well as a relatively comfortable-looking sofa underneath a bay window. There is a door that leads to the bathroom on the left, and even in the dark Louis can make out the base of a hot tub. The lamps were already lit for them, and on the bed sits a folder with the Johnson and Patrick logo on it.

Harry drops his bags to the floor and walks over to the bed, picking up the folder and flipping it open. He pulls a short stack of papers from it, his eyes scanning over the first page. “Dear Friends,” he begins reading, “We hope you’ll enjoy your time at Adare O’Neill’s Bed and Breakfast. You have a wonderful weekend ahead of you, filled with fantastic activities compliments of Johnson and Patrick. Attached you will find an itinerary of activities for you and your significant other to enjoy together. A couple’s massage and a wine and chocolate tasting are just a sample of what you have to look forward to. Sit back, relax, and bask in the delights of Dublin! Yours truly, Danica Johnson and Philip Patrick, CEO and CFO, Johnson and Patrick Corp.” Harry takes a break, closes his eyes, and then shoots Louis an incredulous look. “What the fuck.”

For his part, Louis pretty much stared slack-jawed as Harry read through that joke of a letter. “What the fuck indeed,” he croaks.

“A couple’s massage,” Harry repeats, tossing the papers and folder back onto the bed. He crosses his arms. “ _A wine and chocolate tasting_.”

“My hearing is just fine, Harry, I heard all of that the first time,” Louis says, crossing his own arms. “I didn’t know they had, like, shit planned out for us like this.”

“It’s a couple’s weekend,” Harry says slowly, like Louis is dense. “What did you think it meant?”

“I don’t know,” Louis says flippantly, “that they reserved a suite and had some vouchers for dinner or some shit. I didn’t think too much about it.”

“Obviously,” Harry mutters, turning away.

“And what’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Louis shoots back, his eyes narrowing. His eyes burn with exhaustion and he just wants to shower and go to bed, but evidently that means that he’ll be sleeping next to _Harry_ now and that was not part of the fucking plan.

Harry doesn’t say anything, just hoists his bag onto the bed to begin unpacking some of his stuff.

“Brilliant,” Louis hisses. “You’re a goddamn mute the whole trip here, and then you manage to be pleasant for a few brief moments, and now you’re back to this petulant little child act you pulled in the comic book shop. Can’t fucking wait for our couple’s massage.”

“I meant,” Harry responds, not looking at Louis, “that obviously you didn’t think too much about this trip, otherwise you might have thought to ask about the accommodations.”

“Fuck off, Harry,” Louis snaps. “I didn’t see you volunteer to do any of the organizing, so don’t give me any of that shit. If you were so concerned about it, you could have fucking called yourself.”

“I should have,” Harry replies. He still won’t look at Louis.

Louis wants to snap at him again, but he also doesn’t even want to be in the same space as Harry anymore. He doesn’t want to even breathe the same bloody _air_ as him. He huffs a breath and says under his breath, “Go fuck yourself.” He doesn’t know if Harry hears or not and he doesn’t care. He grabs his own bag and places it on the sofa. He pulls out his black bag housing his toiletries and grabs his pajamas, a favorite pair of flannel pants and a Rovers shirt with too many holes in it. He doesn’t ask Harry if he can use the bathroom first, doesn’t even tell him he’s going. He snatches up his items and marches off to the bathroom, Harry’s back still turned to him. He takes his time showering and brushing his teeth, pulling on his pajamas and feeling as comfortable as he thinks is possible given the circumstances.

When Louis opens up the door and lets out the remnants of steam, he feels better - marginally. He stares at the couch and the sofa, where Harry is now sitting scrolling on his phone. He doesn’t want to bring up the obvious dilemma, but he also wants to go to sleep, so he figures he can endure a few moments of awkwardness to figure out their sleeping arrangements. “Do you want the bed or the sofa?”

Harry glances up at him and rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. The bed is big enough for both of us.”

“I really don’t fancy sleeping next to you, to be honest,” Louis tells him.

“Suit yourself,” Harry says, plugging his phone into a charger and standing. He begins unbuttoning his almost-sheer black shirt, exposing tattoos scattered on his torso. Louis looks at the floor. “I’m sleeping in the bed. You can too, or you can take the sofa. Your choice.”

Harry strides past him, grabbing his hair and pulling it up into a bun with a hair tie Louis hadn’t noticed was wrapped around his wrist. Louis looks back to the sofa. He could probably fit on it, and it probably wouldn’t be too uncomfortable. But the bed looks _more_ comfortable, and Louis is tired. So he takes a breath and sucks it up, grabbing his own charger and plugging it into the outlet at the base of one of the lamps. The folder from Johnson and Patrick is still at the foot of the bed. He grabs it and pulls back the covers of the bed, sliding in and feeling a bit of tension drain from his shoulders now that he’s lying down.

He bypasses the letter, already knowing what it says. He goes to the next page; their itinerary for the next day. As promised, there is a couple’s massage. But first, however, they get to enjoy breakfast downstairs and a couple of hours to lounge. They get their couple’s massage followed by tea and light lunch on the terrace. Their wine and chocolate tasting is before dinner, which is a fancy one at a restaurant not too far from the B&B. Once again, it all looks good on paper. Louis just doesn’t know how they’ll fare in reality if they can barely have a conversation without sniping at each other.

When Harry emerges from the bathroom later, his hair is wet and hanging in long strands down his face. His curls are more pronounced. He has on a pair of tight black boxer briefs and a white t-shirt. He doesn’t acknowledge Louis laying in the bed. He walks over to his phone, unlocks it, reads something on the screen, and locks it again. He wanders back over to the side of the bed.

“Can I turn this off?” is all he asks, his hand hovering over the switch.

“Sure,” Louis says, placing their itinerary on the bedside table and burrowing further into the bed.

Harry flips the switch and the room descends into darkness. Louis can make out his silhouette moving around to the other side of the bed. He feels the bed shift as Harry pulls back the comforter and slides in himself. The bed is big enough that Louis isn’t jostled at all, but Harry is radiating warmth and more of that cinnamon smell and Louis just shuts his eyes.

“I set an alarm,” Harry says quietly, his voice muffled by the dark and his pillow.

“Okay,” Louis says.

The last thing he hears before he finally crashes is Harry breathing.

\---

Two things alert Louis the next morning that he is not in his own bed. The first is the God-awful beeping coming from across the room. The second is the hair his face is burrowed in, long dark brown hair that smells like vanilla and... _cinnamon_.

Louis’ eyes dart open but his vision is blurred by the same dark hair he was breathing in just seconds before. He doesn’t think too much about recoiling and rolling over onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to calm his breathing. What the _fuck_.

Next to him, Harry finally starts to rejoin the living. Louis resolutely does not look to his right as Harry yawns and mutters fuck, throwing off the covers and standing up. From the corner of his eye Louis can see Harry wander over to the sofa where his phone is having a seizure, blasting what is probably the most obnoxious alarm programmed into any phone ever.

Louis chances a glance over, then, only to see Harry run long fingers through his hair, brushing through little tangles that formed in the night from sleeping on it wet. The bottom of his white t-shirt rides up above his boxer briefs, exposing the Calvin Klein label and the bottoms of two laurels inked onto his abdomen. Louis should stop staring.

Harry looks up from his phone after turning it off. He sees Louis watching him but doesn’t react, his face completely neutral as he says, “Breakfast runs until 10. It’s 9:00 now. Do you want to get ready and go down?”

To be honest the last thing Louis wants to do is sit awkwardly across from Harry for the next forty some odd minutes and either make uncomfortable small talk or completely ignore each other. However, it’s part of the itinerary of the _free_ (Louis has to keep reminding himself) trip that he’s currently on. He might as well take advantage of the delights of Dublin and this B &B, especially since he isn’t paying for it. Silver linings and all that.

“Yeah,” he answers, throwing the covers back himself. He runs a hand over his face and his eyes, feeling sleep gathered at the corners and more or less like he got run over by a truck. All day traveling can suck a dick as far as he is concerned.

Harry and Louis get ready together silently. They take turns in the bathroom, brushing their teeth and making themselves look presentable to the world. Louis pulls on a pair of his black skinny jeans, ones he tends to reserve for club nights with Niall and Liam (though usually he just ends up being Niall’s wingman rather than pulling himself. Maybe the jeans have lost their touch). He grabs a green Adidas hoodie his mom got him for his birthday last year, as well as his tried and true black Vans. He wonders if maybe, at 26, if he should stop dressing like he did when he was 23. But he figures as long as he gets carded he is allowed to get away with it.

Harry, on the other hand, looks like he walks off the goddamn runway with the outfit he picks out. Like Louis, he chooses black skinny jeans. Unlike Louis, however, there is a very good chance it is going to require a fucking crowbar to get them off later. Louis notices he wears the same pair of Chelsea boots as the first time he met him at the comic book store. The shirt he chooses, well, Louis is pretty sure it might be a woman’s blouse. It billows around his pecs and waist, catching the air and fluttering around in a way that is irritatingly endearing and Louis is fucking pissed.

When they deem themselves as acceptable as they’re going to be for breakfast, they grab their key cards and head downstairs. Adare O’Neill’s complimentary breakfast puts all regular hotels to shame. There is the standard light fare, pastries and bagels and fruit and the like. Louis has his eye on made to order Belgian waffles when he spots a little window leading into the kitchen. He wanders over and reads the sign on the ledge, advertising a full English available upon request. He’s pretty sure he’s died and gone to heaven.

While Louis chats amiably with a cook who takes his order, Harry - unsurprisingly - piles a plate with fruit. He seems to have an affinity for bananas, and Louis is not quite sure what that implies. In a bizarre twist he also seems to relish in buttering up a chocolate chip bagel.

When Louis returns to the table with his food, as well as a Belgian waffle because how could he not, Harry has already made his way through a banana and a half and is pulling his bagel apart into bite sized pieces. It’s as Louis sits down that Harry stands up, towering over him as Louis begins cutting into his sausage. “I’m going to get coffee. Do you want tea?”

Louis is so surprised to hear Harry speaking to him that he bites into his sausage too fast and scalds his tongue. “Fuck!” he hisses, dropping his fork to his plate. He breathes in for a few seconds to try to regain feeling in his tongue. When he looks up Harry actually looks amused. Progress, Louis guesses. “Uh, yes, please. York-”

“Yeah, I know, Yorkshire,” Harry says, rolling his eyes, but there is no malice behind it. He walks over the table that holds the drinks: coffee, a vast selection of tea and juices, and milk.

Louis takes his time cutting up his sausage after his favorite breakfast food tries to kill him.  He lets the pieces cool off, instead choosing to butter up his waffle and drizzle syrup. He loves watching the syrup pool into the little ridges. By the time Harry comes back (holding two glasses of water and a mug of tea and coffee each in his huge hands), Louis has already shoveled his eggs into his mouth.

What follows is an alarmingly comfortable silence between them. Harry occasionally makes a comment about a fellow visitor who wanders into the room, a few of them looking hilariously hungover. Louis can tell who had a good night the night before based on how quickly the bacon and coffee goes.

Louis manages to eat everything but a small portion of his waffle before he admits defeat. Harry finished his fruit and bagel about five minutes before and had proceeded to pass the time by making a tower with the little creamer cups in a bowl in the middle of their table. A young guy comes around almost the second he sees Louis push his plate away.

“Are you finished, sir?” he asks. He has Justin Bieber-like hair, fringe swept to the side in a windblown look straight out of 2010. Louis has war flashbacks to his youth.

“I am, yes,” he answers. “It was delicious. Thank you.”

“Wonderful. And you, sir?” the guy asks, directing his attention at Harry.

“Yes, thank you,” Harry answers, lifting up his own plate and handing it to the server.

“Are you here on a romantic getaway?” the guy asks. Louis gets a look at his nametag. Brian.

Harry opens his mouth, his lips making an O shape as his brain tries to figure out how to reply. Louis allows a moment to appreciate the site, Harry looking flustered, before he puts him out of his misery.

“Something like that,” Louis answers, grinning up at Brian who is looking at the two of them kindly.

“Well, I hope you enjoy your stay with us!” Brian tells them. Then he’s off, presumably back to the kitchen. Or maybe to ask awkward questions to other people. Who knows.

Louis looks over at Harry but Harry isn’t looking back. His eyes are downcast to the table. He is drumming his fingers on the white linen tablecloth, the large ring on his pointer finger occasionally banging the tabletop and making it vibrate. Louis isn’t sure what has Harry in a state but he also doesn’t want to bring it up, so instead he stands up and pushes his chair back. “You ready to chill for a few hours?”

Louis’ voice breaks Harry out of whatever daydream he was in, because his eyes drag up to Louis’ face and refocus. “Yeah,” he says slowly, his deep voice rumbling low in his chest and _Jesus Christ_ is that ever _not_ going to sound like pure porn to Louis’ ears?

It’s just before 10 when they get back to the room. Louis immediately kicks his shoes off and plops onto the sofa. He’s still tired, and could probably take a nap, but he also doesn’t want to mess up his sleep schedule. Harry has resumed laying down on the bed, his phone poised in front of his face as he looks at God knows what. Louis stands and announces, “I’m going to use the bathroom, be right back.”

Harry grunts in acknowledgment but doesn’t look away from his phone. Louis rolls his eyes.

In the few minutes Louis was gone, though, his phone went off. The first thing out of Harry’s mouth is, “Your phone rang twice. You might want to check if it’s important.”

“Oh,” Louis says, surprised. He goes to the side table where his phone is still plugged into the charger. Indeed, he has two missed calls. He takes a deep breath when he sees who it was. _Tommy_.

Louis pulls his phone from the charger and goes over to the sofa. He sits down, crossing his legs and calling Tommy back.

Tommy answers after a few rings. “Hey, Lou!”

“Hey Tommy,” Louis replies, taking a deep breath. “Any reason you decided to blow up my phone at 10 am on a Saturday?”

“I’m sorry,” Tommy says, and Louis believes him. “I know you’re in Dublin this weekend but...I needed to talk.”

He sounds legitimately upset, and Louis feels his stomach clench. Tommy is usually really good at holding it together but he actually sounds near tears. Louis feels a wave of nerves run over him, prickling at his skin. “What’s going on, mate?”

He hears Tommy take a shuddering breath, his voice crackling down the line. “I know it’s not a big deal.” His shaky voice says otherwise. “It’s just… You know that physics exam I had on Thursday?”

“Yeah…” Louis says, not sure where this is going. “The one I helped you with, right?”

“Yeah,” Tommy confirms. “I just checked my grade on it. I completely fucked up, Louis.”

As his brain catches up to what Tommy just said, Louis can’t help but feel a wave of relief. It’s a test. Tommy bombed a test. He didn’t get anyone pregnant or catch an STD or get arrested or any number of other shitty things a 16 year old kid could get up to in London. He closes his eyes and takes another breath. Okay, so Tommy didn’t do any of those things, but obviously this exam was a bigger deal than Louis realized if Tommy is that bent out of shape.

“I’m sure that’s not true, Tom,” Louis finally replies after a moment of collecting his thoughts.

“I fucked up,” Tommy repeats, his voice still shaky. “You know I’m taking physics as an AS level. I need it to apply to Cardiff.”

“I know,” Louis replies. He looks up. Harry is still on his phone.

“If I don’t pass my AS level, I’m screwed. The comment on my exam was _fails to grasp basic concepts_ , _needs to apply himself more_. Can you believe that, Louis? I studied for _weeks_!”

Louis remembers. One of the nights he spent with Tommy was helping him revise for this exam. Tommy seemed to have a decent understanding of it, though. “What happened, Tommy? Was there material you didn’t remember, or…?”

“There was this diagram worth a third of the whole exam,” Tommy answers. “It was all or nothing. And I just blanked on it.”

Louis bites his lip, feeling sympathy claw at his heart. He knows those types of exams. Some of his psychology ones at university were similar, where if you messed up on the parts that were worth the most points you basically failed the whole thing.

“Okay Tommy,” Louis begins. “It isn’t the end of the world, okay?”

“But Louis-”

“Uh uh,” Louis cuts him off. “Let me finish. I know this sucks, okay? Believe me. And I’m not saying you shouldn’t be upset about it. But it’s only October. You have the whole rest of term to make up for it, right?”

“Yeah,” Tommy replies. “This was just the first one.”

“This doesn’t mean you’re going to fail your AS level, and it doesn’t mean you’re not going to get into Cardiff. It just means you might have to go to tutoring or something. I wish I could help you more but I’m shit at science.”

That gets a little laugh out of Tommy, so Louis figures mission accomplished.

“And listen,” Louis continues, “when I get back from Dublin we’ll go to Nando’s, alright? I’ll even get you a pint. Just don’t tell your mum.”

Tommy laughs again. “Okay. Thanks, Louis.”

Louis grins, feeling better now that he seems to have talked Tommy down a ledge. “Relax this weekend, okay? Don’t feel bad about it. You’ll get ‘em next time.”

“Yeah,” Tommy says, sounding like he’s pretty sure Louis is full of shit and maybe Louis is but fuck it, it’s Louis’ job to make him feel better about himself.

“Listen to me, Tommy,” Louis says, putting on his Serious Voice to make sure Tommy pays attention. “You’re a smart kid. You’re loads better at this stuff than you think. You just have to roll with the punches sometimes. We all fuck up. You’re allowed to blow one exam, okay? I promise it’s allowed.”

Tommy is silent for a few moments, during which time Louis sees Harry set his phone down and roll over onto his side, his back to Louis. Finally, Louis hears, “I miss you, Louis.”

If Louis was alone, he might allow himself to get a little teary. As it is, with Harry only a few feet away, Louis has to swallow and will it all down. “I miss you too, bud. I have to go but I’ll call you this week and we’ll plan the trip to Nando’s, okay?”

“Okay!” Tommy replies. “Have fun on your trip. Bye, Louis!”

“Bye, Tommy,” Louis says, and then he ends the call. He tosses his phone onto the sofa next to him and takes a full-body breath, feeling the tension seep from his shoulders as he comes down from his talk. His phone beeps with a text message a moment later, a message from Liam:

_Are you alive?_

Louis snorts to himself, picking up his phone and typing a reply: _For now, though I can’t guarantee you will be when I get back._

\---

At 11:40, Harry and Louis leave their room and head down to the main floor. Two of the back rooms of the B&B have been converted into an on-site spa of sorts. One room is the massage room, complete with tables, candles, and every variation of massage oil ever created. The second room has been transformed into a shower and steam room, a place for guests to change and wash down before their massage. Harry and Louis are met at the door of this makeshift locker room by two young women, perhaps just out of massage school by the looks of them, wearing matching white polo shirts. Their name tags alert Harry and Louis that the girl on the left with dark hair and thick rimmed glasses is Ariana. The girl on the right, blonde and blue-eyed, is Nora.

“You must be Harry and Louis,” Nora chirps, extending her hand out for them to shake. Louis guesses she’s no more than twenty two. She’s also American. “My name is Nora and this is Ariana.”

Ariana extends her own hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she greets in a rough Irish brogue. “Can we interest you in some strawberry infused water before we begin?”

“Uh, sure,” Harry replies, looking to Louis to see if he objects. Louis doesn’t.

“Excellent!” Ariana replies. “Let me just pop out and get that. You both can disrobe in here.” She holds open the door to the locker room. “When you’re ready, just walk through the door next to the benches and meet us in the massage room.”

“Thanks,” Louis replies, and he and Harry enter the locker room together.

Louis turns away as he and Harry are shut inside the admittedly spacious but very clearly enclosed space. On the benches, they both find soft, white, cotton robes to change into. Louis elects to keep his boxer briefs on, as does Harry. They both avert their eyes as they remove their clothes and pull on the robes.

When they’re both, ready Louis pushes open the door that leads into the massage room. Ariana had ready for them a small table with strawberry infused water in the corner of the room, where she and Nora are now standing. When she sees Harry and Louis enter, she smiles and waves.

“Hello!” she says. “Please, help yourselves.” She picks up two glasses and holds them out.

Louis and Harry thank her and take sips at the same time. It’s cool and clean-tasting, with just a hint of strawberry in the aftertaste. It’s refreshing, and Louis assumes it’s so they don’t get dehydrated during the massage.

“Before we begin, are there any problem areas we should know about?” Nora asks.

Louis shakes his head but Harry says, “My back twinges a bit.”

Ariana nods. “And are there any areas you’d like special attention on?”

This time, Louis says, “My shoulders please.” He finishes off his water and Nora wordlessly accepts the empty glass, replacing it on the table.

“Certainly,” she says. “And finally, any allergies or health problems we should know about, such as heart problems?”

Both Harry and Louis shake their heads and Nora and Ariana smile at them. “Excellent,” Nora says. “You can each select a table. We’ll leave you for a moment to get settled.”

Ariana bows out first followed by Nora, and then Harry and Louis are alone again.

“I’ll take this one?” Louis asks, glancing over at Harry and toying with the front of his robe, sidestepping towards a table.

“Sure,” Harry replies, moving to the table furthest from the door. He pulls at the tie of his robe and it billows open.

Louis is suddenly confronted with an eyeful of Harry, the dark hair trailing into the waistband of his boxer briefs, the line of his abs, the two small tattoos above his pecs. Then Louis realizes he is very much staring, so he quickly looks away.

Harry, for his part, seems not to notice. He shucks off the robe and lays it carefully across a chair next to the table. Louis undoes his own robe and tosses it at the foot his his bed. His arms come up to immediately rub against his arms, goosebumps breaking out over his skin as it comes into contact with the air conditioned air.

Louis is too busy rubbing his arms to notice that Harry is watching up. That is, until he hears a quiet, “Your tattoos.”

Louis glances up quickly, shielding his chest on instinct. When he makes eye contact with Harry, he’s surprised to find Harry’s eyebrows furrowed. “Huh?”

“I just, uh… Didn’t expect…” Harry states, trailing off and eyes still roaming over Louis’ arms.

Louis glances down to the heart on his right arm and the writing inked across his chest. It Is What It Is. “Oh,” he says, a bit surprised. “I have three.” He hops up onto his table and slides under the towel, offering no other explanation.

Harry is still looking at Louis intently when there is a knock on the door. Harry gets onto his own table without saying anything else.

“Come in!” Louis calls, and he looks towards the door. Anywhere but at Harry.

The door opens and Nora and Ariana reappear in the room. Nora comes to Louis’ side and gets herself situated, rubbing her hands with oil that smells of lavender.

“How are you enjoying your stay?” she asks as Louis buries his head in the pillow his forehead is resting on.

“Very much,” he answers.

To his right, Louis hears Ariana ask Harry, “You’re here with Johnson and Patrick?”

“Yeah,” Harry replies. “Our...friend works there and gave us this trip.”

“Very generous,” Nora pipes up, beginning a preliminary rub down the center of Louis’ spine. “We get a lot of guests on complimentary work trips, but I have to say, Johnson and Patrick offer one of the best packages.”

“I’m not surprised,” Louis says. “Our friend, Liam, told us it would be great. He was very disappointed he couldn’t make it, but his girlfriend had to work.”

“And how long have you two been together?” Ariana asks.

Louis hisses in a breath. Fuck it all to hell, everyone asking them about this. It makes sense, he supposes. They’re having a couple’s massage. But still. It’s a bit presumptuous, is all. Louis is prepared to make things awkward just like last night, but Harry beats him to replying, and Louis almost falls off the table when he hears it:

“Not very long.”

\---

Lunch is served on the patio, enclosed with shiny plastic vinyl enclosures. It keeps the sun in and the cold out, and is warm and comfortable thanks to the insulation. There are other people eating lunch as well; a few couples, by the looks of them, as well as a business meeting, a group of five men in coordinating black and blue suits.

Louis and Harry are quiet as they make their selections for lunch; Louis goes standard, a deluxe burger with fries, soup, and salad. He’s not really sure he has room for all of it but Louis is nothing if not confident. Harry chooses a spring mix salad that comes with berries, nuts, and chicken, tossed in the signature house dressing. (Louis may or may not have skimmed the menu for Harry’s selection once he said it, just to see what it was.) Once they order, it’s quiet again.

Truthfully, once Louis got over the initial shock of hearing say “Not very long,” Louis was surprisingly...okay with it. Ariana and Nora didn’t ask any more personal questions and Louis was left to enjoy the hour-long massage, leaving him feeling boneless and his muscles a bit sore. He figures Harry did it to ward off questions. If they haven’t been together very long, there probably wasn’t much to share. Right?

It’s as their soup and Louis’ salad are arriving that Harry speaks, his voice a bashful mumble as he asks, “Is everything okay?”

Louis is in the middle of spearing a crouton with his fork when Harry asks. He’s thrown because, what? “...Yeah. Why?”

“Your phone call earlier,” Harry continues. “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I promise. It just… It sounded urgent.”

Louis pauses chewing to, well, stare, mostly. Harry isn’t looking at him. He’s blowing on his spoonful of soup and avoiding Louis’ gaze. And Louis is...charmed. He’s actually _flattered_ that Harry thought to ask, that Harry noticed something might be wrong to begin with. They barely know each other. And Harry, for his part, actually seems a bit embarrassed about asking to begin with.

For some reason, Louis doesn’t like seeing that at all. He could just repeat everything is fine and move on. They could remain in this weird limbo state of not really talking together, just coexisting in the same space. But Louis finds he doesn’t really want that. Harry’s question feels like an olive branch, so Louis takes it.

He grabs his packet of crackers and rips open the package. Harry still isn’t looking at him. “I’m a big brother in the Big Brothers Big Sisters of London program.” He crumbles his crackers onto his soup. Harry finally looks up.

“What?” he asks, furrowing his eyebrows.

“Tommy. That’s who called. He’s my ‘little brother.’ I spend time with him a few times a week. We go to football games. I help him with his homework. When I understand it, that is. I try to help him in any way I can, really.”

“And he’s just a kid in the program” Harry asks. He pauses. “No, that came out wrong. I meant to ask that he’s not really your little brother, right?”

Louis shakes his head and smiles. “No, he’s not. We got partnered together two years ago. He’s doing his A-Levels now.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “That’s...surprising. I mean. I thought… I thought maybe you were talking to your boyfriend or something.” He pauses for another beat, seemingly catching himself. “Uh, Liam told me you were gay.”

Louis laughs, a surprise burst of delight that takes him by surprise. “No!” he says. “No, definitely not. Tommy is seventeen and most certainly not my boyfriend. He’s a good kid. I’m proud of him.”

Harry smiles at Louis’ obvious show of affection and Louis finds himself warming under Louis’ gaze. “What is your boyfriend’s name, then?”

Louis almost chokes on his swallow of soup. Boyfriend? What? “I’m sorry?” he asks.

Harry looks sheepish, then. He runs a hand through his (beautiful, soft-looking) curls and says, “I was just wondering. I mean, obviously you weren’t planning on using this trip with me. Your boyfriend must not have been too happy. So I figured I better know his name in case he tracks me down later.”

The joke is so, so _corny_ that Louis finds himself being charmed all over again. For the second time this afternoon, Louis actually wants to be honest.

He laughs for a second. “I don’t have a boyfriend,” he finally answers. He looks at the last dregs of his soup and turns to his partially-eaten salad.

“Really?” Harry asks. Louis finds him staring again. “I mean. I just thought… Back when we first found out about this trip, you said you had plans for it. So I just figured…”

Louis chuckles. He rubs a hand along the side of his neck and blushes. “Oh I, uh… I wasn’t trying to win this trip for me. I was trying to win it for my mum and stepdad for their anniversary.”

He’s not sure what reaction he’s expecting, but it’s not for Harry to let out a loud, full-body cackle and then to clap a hand over his mouth, his face flushing adorably.

Wait. _Adorably_?

But before Louis can think about his mind’s choice of adjective, he finds that he’s laughing. “What?” he asks Harry.

Harry drops his hand, his dimples cratering his cheeks, and he just looks so young. “It’s just… I wasn’t trying to win the trip for myself, either. I was going to give it to my sister as a wedding present. Well, a pre-wedding present. She’s not getting married until December.”

Louis pauses, the weight of Harry’s words hovering over him. He feels embarrassed, but also kind of amused. “So you mean… I mean what you’re saying is, in trying to win the trip for someone else, we each prevented the other from actually being able to give it away.”

Harry’s still grinning when he nods. “Seems that way, yeah.”

Louis leans back in his chair, an incredulous smile on his face. “Well, fuck,” he says, a bit louder than he meant to. A man from the group of businessmen at the neighboring table glances their way but turns back around without so much as a disapproving stare. “We’re a pair of assholes, aren’t we?”

Harry laughs. Their waiter returns with their meals, whisking away their empty soup bowls and Louis’ salad plate. “It seems like we are,” he replies. He picks a dried cranberry from the top layer of his salad and pops it into his mouth. Louis doesn’t notice the way his lips pucker around the fruit, or how his lips seem to match the color of the berry. Nope. He doesn’t do that at all.

Louis lets out a breath. He can do this, he can. He can be something other than a prick for once. “Do you think we could, I don’t know… Start over? Or maybe not start over, really. But move on? Give each other another chance?”

Harry takes a sip from his water glass. He looks contemplative for a moment. Louis cuts his burger in half as he waits for Harry’s verdict. Finally: “I think I’d like that.”

Louis feels himself smile, the crinkly-eyed one Niall has told him has melted many a heart and gotten him multiple guys’ numbers. But it feels different this time, like it’s not for show or to get what he wants or to win someone over. He’s smiling like this because, sometime in the last five minutes, Harry became someone Louis wanted to smile for. And Louis is okay with that.

They’re still smiling at each other as they finally dig into their food. Before their silences have been littered with a tense feeling, but right now, it’s like they both feel completely content to just...be.

That is, until Harry, totally apropos of nothing, asking Louis, “So, uh, what do you do? Like what’s your job?”

Louis chews his bite of burger and swallows. “Oh. I’m a counselor. For sixth form. Guidance, university stuff, career opportunities. Things like that.”

Harry’s eyes widen in interest. “Really? Do you like it?”

“Most days,” Louis chuckles. “I love the kids, even though they can be fucking annoying sometimes.”

Harry laughs. “So if a kid is having, like, a personal crisis or something, you’re their go-to?”

Louis shrugs “In theory. But most of the time they’re sent to me after a problem has escalated.”

“Is that how you got involved in the Big Brothers program?” Harry asks.

Louis watches him stab at a piece of chicken. “Yeah, actually. It kind of came out of nowhere but I thought I’d give it a try. I wanted to do something other than just counsel kids at school, you know? I like that with me and Tommy it’s more personal. I’ve seen him grow up.”

Harry smiles at him again, a soft smile that Louis feels all over his body. “That’s really nice.”

Louis shrugs, averting his eyes but secretly preening under the praise. “I do what I can.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry shake his head. When he looks up, Harry isn’t looking at him, but he’s speaking again: “Don’t sell yourself short. You’re doing something important. You’re helping someone.”

Louis doesn’t really know what to say to that. Sure, people have told him it’s nice that he’s involved in the program, but there has always been an undercurrent of elitism involved. Like, how it’s so admirable that Louis is taking the time to help out a kid from the slums. In fact, Tommy doesn’t live in the slums. Yes, his mum is a single mum and struggles a bit with finances, but Louis’ mum was the same growing up and it wasn’t a reflection on his mum or him or his family. It’s just the way it was. Maybe Louis takes it a bit personally, but it always makes his hackles rise a bit when people pass judgment on Tommy or what Louis is doing in the program. As far as Louis sees it, it was a chance to do something good for someone else, and he doesn’t need approval from anyone else.

With Harry, though, he doesn’t get that feeling. No judgment, no condescension masked by approval. He just feels...accepted. Like Harry takes it at face value and genuinely sees what Louis is doing as a good thing to do.

Before Louis can make a fool of himself by saying something embarrassing, Louis changes the subject. “So Harry, what do you do?”

Harry flashes him a smirk. “Do you want my day job, or my night job?”

Harry opened the door for Louis to walk right through it: “Is it PG-13?”

Harry laughs, another burst of amusement that makes his cheeks flush. “Yes.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Okay, what’s your day job?”

“I’m a music teacher,” Harry asks without skipping a beat. “I teach Year One to Year Six.”

Somehow, that answer doesn’t surprise Louis at all. “And your night job?”

“I’m a pet sitter.”

Louis stares at him for a solid five seconds. He wants to smile, but he’s not sure that Harry isn’t just messing with him. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

“No fucking and no kidding,” Harry deadpans.

Louis pauses, not sure his ears heard correctly. Then, he bursts into laughter. He caves in on himself, bending over the table a bit as he laughs. He sweeps his fringe out of his eyes and lets the giggles overtake his whole body. From his blurred vision, he can see Harry laughing too. They’re probably causing a scene. Louis doesn’t care.

“You’re something else, aren’t you?” Louis asks when he regains some composure. He looks down at his partially-eaten burger. He picks up a fry and swirls it in the ketchup on his plate, trying to control himself. “How’d you get into pet sitting?”

Harry shrugs. “It started as just an occasional thing for my friends. Like, I know some people with cats and when they would go away for a weekend or something they’d ask if I could come over and check in on them. That’s how it started.”

“So you like animals, then,” Louis surmises.

Harry nods. “I do. Especially cats. Especially the mean ones.”

Louis raises his eyebrows. “You actually seek out mean cats?”

Harry laughs and shrugs again. “Sure. They still need love too.”

Louis chews thoughtfully as his brain screams _who IS this boy_? “Don’t you ever get worried one is going to claw your eye out or something?”

“Not really,” Harry answers. “I mean, it’s not fun getting scratched, but I figure they can tell when people don’t like them. Then they act up more. So I go in thinking that I like them before I even meet them to throw them off.”

It might be flawed logic, but for some reason, when Harry says it, it just makes sense. So Louis says the only thing he can think of: “Fair enough, mate. I’m more of a dog person, meself.”

“Oh yeah? Do you have any pets?” Harry asks, his eyes lighting up.

Louis grins. “Why, trying to gain another potential client?”

Harry laughs. “No, no. I was just wondering.”

“No, I don’t,” Louis says. “I thought about it, but just never did it.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, sighing. “Me too. But I spend a lot of time with other people’s animals so it didn’t seem fair for me to bring one home myself.”

“So what do you do? Just go over other people’s houses and check in on them?”

“Yeah, most of the time,” Harry replies. “Occasionally I bring them back to my flat but I prefer to keep them in their own home so they don’t get anxiety.”

So not only does Harry pet sit, but he actually cares about the animals’ _anxiety levels_. Who even _is_ this guy?

Louis leans back in his chair and allows himself a small grin. “So tell me about some of the animals you pet sit.”

A goofy smile takes over Harry's whole face. He immediately pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Do you want to see pictures?” he asks, all downplayed excitement like he knows this is kind of lame but he wants to share it anyway.

Louis laughs. “Of course I do.”

That’s how Louis spends the next five minutes leaning across the table looking at Harry’s screen as he scrolls through pictures of some of the animals he’s taken care of. Harry regales him with tales of Ringo the basset hound who sings along to Shakira, Daisy the orange tabby who broke his favorite Tower of London mug, and Beckham the German Shepherd who is suspiciously good at football. Louis laughs along, finding each story to be funnier and funnier, until his sides ache and he’s grinning so hard that he knows his smile is just as goofy as Harry’s. More than that, though, Harry is emanating this... _warmth_ , as he talks about the animals. It’s obvious that he truly loves them and loves what he does.

Louis can’t help but tack on, after Harry has put his phone away, “You’re something else, Harry.”

Harry actually blushes at that, dipping his head and swirling his fork in the salad dressing pooling at the bottom of his bowl. He looks back up and asks, “Is that a compliment?”

Louis takes a moment to look at Harry; his pink cheeks, the way he’s chewing on his lower lip, his dimples as he tries and fails to contain his grin, the ringlets of curls resting on his shoulders.

“Yeah,” Louis says, smiling in earnest. “It is.”

\---

The wine and chocolate tasting takes place the Odessa Club, an upscale restaurant and bar in Dublin that Louis had never heard of before he and Harry walked up to the front door.

Their itinerary from Johnson and Patrick explained that the event was hosted by Tasty Grapes, an event company specializing in wine. The itinerary promised “an exciting afternoon of 7 of their most popular wines paired with 7 of the most indulgent chocolates, courtesy of Cocoa Atelier .” It seems like a lot of pomp and circumstance for Louis, who isn’t a wine drinker, but Harry seems to be excited about it, so Louis lets it go.

“You know I used to be a baker?” Harry asks as they step under the awning of the front door. He smiles his thanks at Louis as Louis holds open the door for him to walk through.

“Nope, Curly, I didn’t know that,” Louis replies, the nickname slipping out easily before he can shove it back in.

Harry beams at the nickname and _giggles_. “When I was sixteen I worked at this bakery in Holmes Chapel. S’where I’m from. And I used to work with a lot of the chocolates.”

“So you can ice cupcakes all fancy and shit?” Louis asks, looking around for some kind of direction about where he and Harry are supposed to go for the tasting. He spots a sign by the host desk, an arrow pointing to the left stating “Tasty Grapes Tasting, This Way.”

Harry nods. “Mhm. I can do decorative piping and writing. I also know how to do the spray painting a bit, but I left the bakery before I got a full handle on it.”

“Why’d you leave?” Louis asks, leading the way to the tasting in the direction of some muffled voices he hears through a partially-ajar door.

“Oh, um,” Harry says, seemingly a little startled at being asked. His voice, if possible, slows to an even longer drawl. “Well, I started sixth form and I needed to spend a bit more time revising. Plus one of the owners passed away and the new woman who came in was...not very nice. So it was just time.”

Louis feels a twinge of irritation at the unknown woman who was mean to 16-year-old Harry. He can imagine Harry as a teenager: bright green eyes, an unruly mop of curly brown hair, big dimples and teeth as he smiles. He wonders if Harry was as endearing at 16 as he is now. Probably.

Louis leads the way through the door that presumably leads to the tasting. There are already a half dozen people gathered in the room, mostly couples by the looks of them. A big round table is draped in white linen, candles lit in the center of it. To the side is another table, various bottles of wine and trays of chocolate strategically paired together.

A tall man approaches them, extending a hand. Louis notices his blazer is dark blue and he's wearing leather shoes with brown socks. Interesting. “Hello, I'm John. I'm your host this evening.”

Louis takes John’s hand first. “I'm Louis,” he tells him. “This is my...friend. Harry.”

Harry shakes John's hand next. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Welcome to the Tasty Grapes Tasting. May I see your tickets?” John asks.

“Oh, we're here courtesy of Johnson and Patrick,” Louis answers. “We were told we were accounted for.”

John's eyes light up and Louis wonders just how much Liam's company shells out on these weekend getaways for everyone to have the same wide-eyed, wistful expression. “Of course!” he replies. “We were expecting you. You can choose any seat you like. We're just waiting on another ten or so people.”

“Thank you,” Louis says. Without thinking too much about it, he places a hand on Harry’s lower back and begins guiding him towards the table. Harry doesn’t even blink, just lets himself be lead.

Louis chooses two open seats at the table. He lets Harry sit down first, figuring he could use the extra room to ensure his giraffe legs make it under the table okay. At each setting is a glass of water and a small plate of white bread. They sit in companionable silence as more people filter into the room. They come in pairs or groups of three or four, all chatting and saying hello to John. He greets every person, seeming to know at least a few of them already. At long last, the table is filled and John claps his hands together.

“Once again, I’d like to welcome you all to this afternoon’s tasting, courtesy of Tasty Grapes. We are so thankful for the Odessa Club agreeing to host the event this evening.” He pauses, nodding to a man standing in the corner of the room, presumably a restaurant staff member who will be assisting in the tasting. “As you all know, we have a real treat for you this afternoon. We have 7 favorite wines paired with some of the finest chocolates available at Cocoa Atelier. We know you are all looking forward to it, so let’s get started!”

John walks over to the table and selects the first bottle of wine and the first tray of chocolate. He places them on the table in front of him and holds up the bottle. “Our first wine of the evening is a 2000 Vintage Graham’s port.” He shows the label to the group. Louis is not really sure why the bottle is important, but Harry is listening with rapt attention. John places the bottle back on the table and holds up the tray next. “We have here a signature white chocolate. We think you’ll find this combination is absolutely decadent. After you’ve all tasted it, I'd like to hear your thoughts.”

The assistant springs into action, beginning to distribute glasses of the wine and chunks of the white chocolate on plates to each guest. They wait until everyone has been served. John says, “Okay, everyone, we hope you enjoy!”

Louis takes that as a cue to start. He glances to his right where Harry has already started to nibble on his chunk of white chocolate. Louis follows his lead. He takes a bite, his taste buds exploding when the chocolate reaches his tongue. It melts in his mouth and he’s never had an orgasm from food before, but there’s a first time for anything.

He sips at the wine next and he’s definitely sure he could come like this. Around the table, his fellow guests are all nodding their approval and appreciation, continuing to nibble at the chocolate and drink the wine.

John looks around the table and asks, “Can anyone point out any distinct flavors in this pairing?”

There’s a beat of silence where no one says anything, either because they don’t know or their mouths are stuffed with chocolate. Louis almost jumps in his seat when a voice next to him goes, “Blueberries and cream.”

John’s eyes fall on Harry and he lights up like a goddamn Christmas tree. “Yes, exactly!” John smiles so wide that Louis thinks his face might break. He feels a prickling of pride at Harry’s suggestion, feeling a bit smug on his behalf because no one else managed to figure it out. “It’s a wonderful combination, yes?”

There are a few mutters of agreement from around the table and everyone finishes off their first round of wine and chocolate. Louis pops the remaining chunk of his chocolate in his mouth, decorum forgotten, and tries to ignore the way Harry’s cheeks have pinked at the attention he just received.

The rest of the tasting goes much the same way. Louis doesn’t talk, just eats and drinks and tries to ignore the flush forming on his own face, whether from the wine or from Harry he’s not sure.

The thing is, Louis is pretty sure it should be fucking _illegal_ for Harry to be allowed to eat chocolate and drink wine. His lips are already so, so pink and Louis has to keep himself from watching them as Harry licks remnants of milk chocolate from the corners of his mouth. He ignores the way Harry dabs at his mouth with the back of his hand after drinking his share of Rasteau. Louis doesn’t hear half of the things that come out of John’s mouth as he introduces each new wine and chocolate combination, and to be honest he couldn’t care less. He’s far too... _distracted_ watching Harry watch John, his ears perked for details about the chocolate. He blushes when he answers other questions correctly. He blushes when Louis tells him he has a bit of dark chocolate on his lower lip.

Louis wants to kiss that chocolate off of his mouth. This is a problem.

Harry seems oblivious to Louis’ inner turmoil, thank God. He just continues listening attentively, giggling at sort-of funny comments that John makes, and really seeming to enjoy the whole experience. It’s fun, Louis guesses, but he’d be just as happy with a bottle of red and a box of Hershey’s by himself in his flat, if he’s honest. But he figures the whole thing is worth it to watch Harry enjoy himself.

By the time the tasting is over, Louis is stressed. He’s stressed about the whole fucking situation. Somewhere in the last hour and fifteen minutes, he decided that Harry is someone he’d like to kiss. Someone that he wants to make sure is happy. Someone whose company he not only enjoys, but finds himself wanting more of. He mutters his agreement as Harry thanks John for the tasting and tells him how much he enjoyed it. Harry is all earnest smiles and dimples as John praises Harry for his knowledge of chocolate and says he hopes the next time they are in Dublin, they’ll come back. By the time they leave the Odessa Club and are back on the street, Louis is sporting a semi and is pretty sure his brain is fried.

It’s the wine. It has to be. Because Harry is more than just cute dimples and Disney prince hair. He’s annoying. His slow, deep voice that takes ten years to say anything. His ridiculous skinny jeans that probably lower his sperm count. Those boots with the totally unnecessary heel (it's a miracle Harry hasn't broken a bone, honestly). The fact that he’s irritatingly persistent and quick-witted, keeping Louis on his toes and never giving an inch.

So Louis blames his sudden infatuation on the wine and forces it all down, down, down. He and Harry have the rest of the night together before they head back to London tomorrow, and Louis intends to enjoy the rest of the free stuff that Johnson and Patrick has planned. He’s not going to think about this anymore.

\---

Louis thinks about it a lot.

He's good for a bit, actually. He and Harry head back to the B&B after their tasting. He listens to Harry yammer about the tasting, his eyes bright as he talks about all the artisan chocolates they tried, the craftsmanship, the quality ingredients. Louis is warmed by how passionate he is about it.

They have some time to relax before they have to head out again for dinner. Harry uses the time to relax on the sofa. He plugs in his earphones, drowning out the rest of the world, including Louis. He's more bothered by that than he wants to admit. Now that he's had Harry's attention, he wants it back. Wants to keep it.

Before he lets himself fall into a bitchy, mopey mess, he sets about deciding what he wants to wear to dinner. A quick glance at the inventory tells Louis they have reservations at Shanahan’s on the Green, a premier steakhouse. He ruffles through his bag to choose something that is stylish but isn't trying too hard. It's not like he’s trying to impress anybody, he thinks to himself as his gaze keeps returning to Harry.

Eventually Harry rises from the sofa, abandoning his phone. Louis is in the middle of deciding between a blue button down or a brown and tan jumper when he hears Harry say, “I'm going to freshen up in the bathroom. I won't be long. Then we can go. Sound good?”

Louis looks over in time to see Harry scoop a pile of clothes from his own bag. “Sure,” he says. “I'll just… I'll change out here, yeah?”

Harry smiles. “Great. I'll be back.”

Louis turns back to his shirts and holds his breath until he hears the bathroom door shut behind Harry. He pinches the bridge of his nose. Clothes. Dinner. Right.

Louis ends up choosing his blue button down. It's got everything to do with it not being cold enough for the jumper and nothing to do with it being his “Tommo wants to get laid shirt,” as it has been affectionately dubbed by Niall for being present at many a club night because it brings out his eyes. That's what Sophia told him, anyway.

Louis pulls on a pair of his black jeans to go with the shirt, as well as his black leather shoes that he brought specifically in case he needed some fancier shoes. He spritzes a few small sprays of cologne on his neck, a musky Dior scent that was a gift from Niall for Christmas last year. He's ready before Harry, so he sits on the sofa and waits.

Louis plays on his phone while Harry finishes up in the bathroom. He's just about to beat a level on Candy Crush when the door opens. He means to just glance up. He doesn't mean to freeze entirely.

Harry is… Well, he's stunning.

He's in his signature black jeans, of course. Louis is wondering if he owns any other jeans, to be honest. But Louis forgets about all of that when he watches Harry's long legs walk back towards his bag, the way the fabric clings to his thighs and cinches in at his waist. Harry has gone for a black shirt, blousey and loose and unbuttoned midway down his chest. The material is so thin that Louis can make out dark hints of tattoos beneath it. It's sheer and shiny and Louis can almost feel it in his fingertips. The thing that really gets Louis, though, is that on Harry's feet are a pair of shiny gold boots.

Louis is fucked.

Harry's face is hidden by ringlets of curls as he bends over his bag, shoving his clothes from earlier in the day back in. He runs a hand through his hair, over his forehead and back. He looks so serious as he puts his clothes away, his forehead wrinkled and his lips pursed and Louis is in hell.

Once again, Harry is completely oblivious to the alarms going off in Louis’ head. Louis can't blame this on the wine. He didn't have enough to begin with and it's certainly worn off by now. No, the way his mouth dries up at the sight of Harry, how he is completely incapable of fucking moving, is a pretty good indication that his brain is clear and it all comes down to the fact that he just wants.

He wants Harry.

This is inconvenient.

He doesn’t have time to think on it too much, though, because Harry is standing up and looking at him. He flashes a smile at Louis. “You ready to go? I think it’s a good ten minute walk from here.”

By the grace of God, or whatever power exists in the universe that makes things happen, Louis manages to stutter out, “Y-yeah. Let me just, uh. Grab my wallet.”

Harry just keeps smiling and grabs his peacoat, gracefully pulling it over his pretty shirt and waiting as Louis gets his shit together. Louis pockets his phone and wallet, grabs the black jacket he packed on a whim, and stuffs their room key in his pocket. “Let’s head out, yeah?”

They exit the B&B, waving to Lyla at the front desk where she seems to have resumed her duties for the night. The night is chilly but not unbearably so, and if Louis is honest he welcomes the cold air hitting his face. It’s clearing his head and calming him down. It’s easier to think out here.

Shanahan’s is busy, a few brave diners sitting outside under the canopy, but it seems that most people don’t want to weather the elements. Harry gives their name to the hostess and is told it will be just a few minutes while their table is prepared. Louis and Harry have to huddle close together in the close quarters, their shoulders brushing. Louis feels extra warm at all the spots that Harry’s body is touching him.

Within just a few minutes, the hostess returns and whisks them away to their table. Shanahan’s is very nice, Louis has to admit. He takes in his surroundings as they are seated at a two person table. It’s dim, but not dark, in the restaurant. He can clearly read his menu thanks to the low-lighted chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He smells steak and seafood wafting from the kitchen. He Googled the menu before they got here, so he already has a rough idea of what he wants, but he takes the time to peruse it anyway because he can hide his face behind it as he sneaks glances at Harry over the top of it.

A waiter appears at their table moments later, carrying a jug of ice water and filling the glasses sitting next to their bread plates. “Hello, sirs. My name is Charlie. I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”

“Hi, Charlie,” Harry says, smiling up at him.

“Can I interest you in something to drink? We have an excellent wine list.”

“I’m okay on the wine front, I think,” Harry says, glancing across the table at Louis for his own opinion.

Louis nods. “I’m good as well, actually. I’d like a beer, though.”

“Yes, me too,” Harry says. “Stella, if you have it.”

“Of course, sir.” He turns to Louis. “And you sir?”

“Same for me, thanks.”

“And have you decided on any starters?”

“Oh, uh,” Louis says, glancing down at the menu. “Could you give us a few minutes?”

“Certainly,” Charlie says. “I’ll be right back with your beers.”

“Thank you,” Harry replies, smiling up at him.

Charlie gives one more nod and whisks himself away, presumably to the bar.

Harry snickers and looks at Louis. “Okay, Lou. Starters?”

Louis has to stop himself from blushing at the nickname. “Oh, yeah. For sure. What are you feeling?”

Harry looks back to the menu and bites on his lower lip. Louis tries and fails not to stare. “Well, the garlic shrimp sounds good to me.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees easily. “That works for me.”

“Did you decide what you want for dinner?” Harry asks next.

Louis grunts in the affirmative, avoiding Harry’s gaze as he pretends to be really engrossed in the menu. “I’m thinking the New York Sirloin.”

“Good choice,” Harry replies. “I was thinking about the pork shank and whipped potatoes. But I really want the onion rings too.”

Harry looks legitimately upset at the prospect of having to choose between the two sides, his pink lips turning down in a frown as he debates between the two.

“Tell you what,” Louis says. “You get the whipped potatoes, I’ll get the onion rings, and we’ll share, yeah?”

Harry laughs at that, his loud, full-body cackle that he instantly shuts his mouth after. His eyes are shining, though, as he seems to get himself together and says, “Yes, definitely.”

Charlie returns with their beers at that moment, placing the cold glasses on the table in front of them. He also places a bread basket in the middle of the table. “Are you ready to order?” he asks.

Louis nods and rattles off their garlic shrimp starter and his New York sirloin and onion rings. Harry orders his pork and whipped potatoes. Then, stiff as ever, Charlie is off again, their menus in tow.

Harry immediately goes to grab a piece of bread from the basket, cutting into the cube of butter on a small plate next his bread plate. “So, Louis,” he begins.

Louis gulps down a swallow of beer. “So, Harry,” he echoes, smiling.

“Tell me more about your job,” Harry says.

Louis shrugs, taking a piece of bread for himself. “I don’t think there’s much to tell, to be honest. I did psychology at uni. I like people. I like teenagers, especially. So it seemed like a natural fit.”

Harry nods seriously. “And you obviously like your job.”

Louis smiles. “I do, yeah.” He butters his piece of bread and shrugs again. “I dunno, I just think that teenagers get this bad rap. And yeah, they can be annoying as fuck. And whiny. And self-involved. But they’re also fun and funny and...scared. I like to think I help them through some of that.”

Harry is smiling at him now and Louis, who normally preens under attention, feels like he’s crawling in his skin. “You’re a good person.”

Louis laughs at that, taking a swig of beer. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”

Harry shakes his head and leans forward. “I know enough. You’re good. I can tell. Your prickly exterior aside, you’re good. You’re kind and thoughtful. I heard the way you talked to Tommy. You care about him a lot.”

“He reminds me of me, a bit,” Louis replies honestly, sharing a detail that he normally keeps to himself. “His mum is raising him and his younger sister alone. His dad skipped out when he was little. I grew up without a dad, too. He left when I was a baby. And so I know what it’s like to grow up without a dad and kind of feeling like, I don’t know, that there’s something wrong with you? And that you missed out on something? I thought, if I could prevent one kid from feeling like that, I’m doing my job.”

Harry is looking at him intently, his eyebrows furrowed as though he’s trying to figure something out in his head. Finally, he replies with, “I don’t think even you realize how much of a difference you’re making.”

Louis chuckles. “Like I said, I like teenagers. And Tommy is so smart. You know he wants to go to uni to be a scientist? He deserves so much. And I just thought, like. If I could help him get there, then I’ll have done something important.”

“You are,” Harry affirms. “You absolutely are.”

“And like, I wanted him to see that you can grow up without a dad and turn out alright,” Louis continues. At that, he ducks his head back down and starts buttering another piece of bread.

Harry doesn’t push the subject any more after that. Louis doesn’t look up. At least, until he hears a voice come from the other side of the table.

“What’s your go-to karaoke song?”

Louis looks up. Harry is grinning at him, all dimples and unabashed excitement and Louis laughs. “What?”

“Your go-to karaoke song,” Harry repeats. “Everyone has one. Mine, for example, is Since U Been Gone. What’s yours?”

“Oh, uh,” Louis has to think on that. He thinks of drunken pub nights at uni with Niall and Liam. “Livin’ on a Prayer,” he answers.

Harry looks delighted at that. “That’s amazing. A classic.”

Louis laughs. “It was a good song to sing drunk to because pretty much everyone knows the words and even if you fuck it up, people love it so much they don’t notice. Me and Liam and Niall used to sing it all the time at uni.”

“Is that how you met Liam? At uni?”

Charlie appears at their table again, placing a large plate of garlic shrimp on the table. “Your starters, sirs,” he says. “Do you need anything else?”

Louis shakes his head as Harry says, “No, thank you, Charlie.”

Louis waits until Charlie has scurried off again before answering Harry’s question. “No, actually. About Liam, I mean. He moved into my town in the sixth form. He didn’t know anybody. He was such a stick in the mud, too. So serious. So I decided to try to lighten him up a bit. He hated me at first. Thought I was too much. Which, I guess I was. Still am too, sometimes. But eventually he cracked and he became my best mate. We went to uni in London together, where we met Niall. He ran into our room one night, completely naked and covered in body paint, and asked if he could hide out from a group of girls who he’d been playing strip poker with. I’m still not entirely sure why he was running from them, actually.”

Harry giggles. He takes his fork and reaches over the table to spear a shrimp. “Sounds like fun.”

“We did have a lot of fun in uni,” Louis agrees. “Liam and Niall and I were kind of this trio. We all lived together right after graduation, until Liam moved in with his girlfriend and Niall moved in with another one of our friends, Ed. They’re both musicians, too, actually. In a band together.”

“What kind of music do they play?” Harry asks.

“Whatever they feel like, mostly,” Louis replies, laughing. “They’re not half bad, when they get it together long enough to string a song together. They play pubs and open mic nights. They do a lot of covers. Kings of Leon. Nirvana. Madonna.”

“Madonna?” Harry asks, incredulous. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Louis says, deadpan. “So we all went out for my twenty fifth birthday, right? And they didn’t tell me it was open mic night at this pub. So the next thing I know, I look up to the stage and there are Niall and Ed with their guitars. Dedicating a song to me for my birthday.”

“What song did they pick?” Harry asks, sounding afraid of the answer.

“Like a Virgin,” Louis says.

“No,” Harry says, shaking his head. “No.”

“Yes,” Louis replies. “The whole fucking pub joined in. And I had girls coming up to me all night, slipping me napkins with their numbers on it. A few blokes, too. I could have killed them.”

“I’m so sorry,” Harry says, holding in his laughter, but barely.

“I did end up shagging one of the fit guys, though,” Louis admits. “I played up the virgin thing because he seemed so turned on by it. Thought he was deflowering me or something.”

“Bet he was in for a surprise,” Harry says, grinning.

“He was a bit surprised when I deep throated him, yeah,” Louis answers, a little too loudly. A cough from a neighboring table lets him know that his voice has carried. So, because he’s a dick and he likes to make things awkward, he announces even louder. “I think I rimmed him too, but I was also drunk, so.”

Harry laughs but Louis doesn’t miss the way his cheeks pinken. “Well, I guess it was a very happy birthday to you, then.”

Louis takes a shrimp from the plate and pops it into his mouth. He watches as Harry swirls a shrimp of his own in the garlic sauce on his plate. “So, tell me, Curly. What was your best shag?”

Harry coughs, on air or food, Louis doesn’t know, but it’s worth it to see him take a sip of water to clear his throat and blush. “Bit forward, don’t you think?” he asks, but he doesn’t really look upset.

Louis shrugs. “I just told you how I hooked up with a guy because he thought I was a virgin. Which, for the record, I definitely was _not_. So you can tell me about the best sex you’ve ever had.” Another cough from the same direction as before. “Was it kinky? Is that why you don’t want to tell me?”

Harry blushes and shakes his head. “Fine, I’ll tell you,” he takes a deep breath. “This guy I went to uni with, he was on the football team. I went to one of his matches and we fucked after it.”

Louis fixes Harry with an unimpressed look. “That’s it? That’s all I get? You fucked after a football match?”

Harry steels his gaze and says matter-of-factly, “He rode me on the bleachers still in his kit. The lights were still on in the stadium, and there was a bonfire going on down the field.”

Louis takes a moment to let himself picture that, the visual of some faceless guy on Harry’s lap, _up down up down up down_ , fingers running through Harry’s curls, Harry gasping out moans... Then he shakes his head and grins. “And you didn’t get caught?”

Harry shakes his head. “People were too drunk to notice, I think.”

“What made it the best sex, though?” Louis asks. “Because it was public?”

Harry shrugs. “Kind of? I don’t know. I just remember it being really hot. I think the idea of getting caught was really appealing. And the guy was really fit, too. Jamie. He was center forward. He was super tall. And blonde, though I’m pretty sure he dyed his hair. But he was _such_ a power bottom.”

Louis laughs. “Yeah, I’ve had a few of those, too.”

Harry grins, looking a bit sheepish as he asks, “So, you like to top, then?”

“I’m versatile,” he says. “Depends on the mood, what the other guy wants.”

Harry nods. “I think we kind of share that, really.” He gives Louis a meaningful look, grinning and then averting his eyes.

Suddenly, the whole room feels really, really warm. Louis swallows some of his ice water, which feels like it cools down the blood rushing through his veins, at least. When he feels like he’s gained some composure back, he says, “You know, you’re the first guy I’ve been on a date with in months and it’s not even an actual date.”

Harry looks a bit thrown by the comment before he smiles. “Well, for what it’s worth, you’re a much better date than the last guy I did go on a date with.”

“I’m just getting showered with compliments tonight, aren’t I?” Louis teases. He feels a bit warm again when Harry giggles, but in a good way. A very good way.

“I’m just saying,” Harry says. “You’re doing better and you’re not even trying.”

Louis thinks it, but he doesn’t say it out loud. _I’m trying really hard, actually_.

\---

The rest of dinner plays on Louis’ mind as he and Harry walk back to the B&B, full on dinner and cookies and cream cheesecake, and, at least on Louis’ end, each other.

He can’t help but play over the moments at dinner where Harry would lean across the table to steal an onion ring, his hand brushing Louis’ for the briefest of moments before he’d retreat back. He thinks about battling Harry for the last bite of whipped potatoes on Harry’s plate, forks stabbing at each other in a mini sword fight. He tries to avoid thinking about how Harry kept smiling at him, laughing at his jokes and cracking one too many bad ones himself about their fellow diners (almost all of them older and all of them most certainly heterosexual).

When they get back to their room, passing by Lyla once more on the first floor, Louis feels like he’s going a bit stir crazy. Because he _likes_ Harry. Sure, he likes looking at him, but he also _likes him_ likes him. As in, he wants to listen to his crazy slow voice tell more stories about neurotic pets. He wants to hear more about Harry’s job at the bakery. He wants to be able to reach out and wipe the stray chocolate sauce from Harry’s lips instead of just telling him it’s there. And that is...new. Concerning.

When Harry begins unbuttoning his shirt, getting ready to pull on his pajamas, Louis has had enough. He wants to kiss Harry.

He doesn’t, though. Instead he asks, “Do you mind if I have a smoke?”

Harry looks over at him, smirking and still fucking _shirtless_. “Those things kill you, you know.”

Louis fixes Harry with a very unimpressed look. “Yes, Harold. I’ve read the warning labels. I just want to know if I can open the window or if you’d prefer for me to go outside.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You don’t have to go outside. I’m fine.”

Louis nods, already turning to his bag to rummage for his pack of cigarettes. He finds his lighter buried at the bottom of the bag, too. He turns to the window and opens one up. He sits on the back of the sofa, his head facing the open window as he lights a cigarette and takes a drag. He feels his nerves calm a bit, but he is still acutely aware of the fact that Harry is still not wearing a shirt behind him. And oh, those would be Harry’s jeans hitting the floor. Alright then.

Louis manages to avoid looking at Harry as he finishes getting changed, taking a deliberate interest in sucking smoke into his lungs and blowing it back out the window. There’s a breeze coming in, his nose getting a little cold and red, but he figures it’s worth it in the end if it helps him keep his sanity.

When Louis finishes his cigarette, he turns back around to find that Harry is clothed, but his sanity is still at risk. Harry has on a white t-shirt, a hole in the neckline, and black boxer briefs that Louis is pretty sure might actually be the reason he dies. Just keels over, right then and there, because he’s pretty sure he can see the outline of Harry’s cock through the fabric and _fuck_.

Louis puts out the little embers of his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe because he’s an idiot and didn’t think about where he’d put it out before he lit it. He throws it in the bin next to the TV stand and says, “I’m going to go brush my teeth.”

Harry is folding clothes at the foot of the bed, making neat little squares of his jeans and shirts. “Sure,” he says. “Take your time.”

Louis grabs his pajamas from the night before and all but runs to the bathroom, shutting the door behind him and immediately turning on the shower. He strips and feels for the water temperature. When it’s suitably warm, he hops in and has what is perhaps the quickest and least sexy wank of his entire life.

When Louis returns to the room, his teeth brushed and his hair starting to dry, he finds that Harry is already in bed. He has his book from the train open in front of him. He glances as Louis reenters the space but doesn’t comment. Louis goes about shoving his clothes from the night back into his bag, less concerned about wrinkles than Harry seems to be, and starts to check that all of his things are where they belong. The last thing he does is plug in his phone before he gets into bed.

Harry shuts his book and drops it next to his side of the bed. “You can go ahead and turn off the light, if you’re ready.”

“Don’t stop reading on my account,” Louis says.

“It’s alright. M’tired anyway. We have a long day tomorrow. Again.”

Louis nods. “Okay.” The clock on the nightstand says it’s just after ten, but it feels later. He flicks off the light.

They settle into bed, each on their own sides of the mattress and not touching. Louis isn’t expecting it when Harry whispers, “Night, Lou,” into the night, his voice muffled a bit by sleep and his pillow.

Louis doesn’t even try to contain his grin as he says, “Goodnight, Harry” and listens to the little adorable puffs of air that Harry starts expelling moments later. Because it is, actually. A good night.

\---

For a moment, Louis is confused. It's just a moment, though, because then he recognizes the familiar scent of cinnamon in Harry's hair. Jesus Christ.

Somehow, in the middle of the night, Harry and Louis managed to intertwine themselves. They're spooning, for fuck’s sake. And Harry, in spite of having a good two inches on Louis and ungodly long legs, is the little spoon. He's managed to fold in on himself, his back to Louis’ chest, head tucked under Louis’ neck. Louis is definitely sure the universe is trying to kill him.

It's nice. Louis won't try to deny that. Harry is warm and cuddly. His hair tickles Louis’ neck, but it's soft and smells good, just like Harry does. Harry is an enigma, all strong lines and muscles and tattoos, but also cinnamon hair and little love handles and quiet breaths.

Louis doesn't want to let him go. So naturally, that's exactly what he does.

He slowly extracts himself from Harry, careful not to wake him. He doesn't want to have a conversation about them waking up tangled together. He doesn't want Harry to feel awkward about waking up with Louis plastered to his back. He doesn't want to deal with that weirdness. So he chalks it up to them both being restless sleepers and sets about getting himself together.

It's not too long after that that Harry begins to stir. Louis has been up and about for almost a half hour, getting dressed and quietly putting his bag to rights. They’ll have brunch downstairs before they get a car back to the port to head home. Louis is checking to make sure he repacked all his toiletries when he hears Harry mumble, “Morning” to him.

Louis looks towards the bed and gulps. Harry has kicked the covers down so only his legs are covered. His shirt has ridden up, exposing the laurels on his stomach and the fine hair trailing down into his boxer briefs. Harry's hands are extended over his head in a stretch, and he smiles at Louis sleepily.

“Morning,” Louis eventfully gets out, returning to his task of repacking bottles but having lost track of where he left off.

“What time is it?” Harry asks, throwing the covers off his legs.

“A little after ten,” Louis tells him. “Brunch is until twelve thirty, but we have to check out by noon.”

“Right,” Harry nods. He stands up and stretches again. “I'm just going to hop in the shower and try to wake up a little. I'm already pretty much packed.”

“Okay,” Louis agrees. “I'll just chill until you're ready.”

“Okay,” Harry replies, and then he disappears into the bathroom.

Louis brings up his casino slot machine game to avoid thinking about Harry wet and naked. It mostly works.

When Harry reemerges, he's back in black jeans but this time they're paired with a soft lavender jumper. If Louis thought Harry looked cuddly before, it's nothing compared to now. He supposes this is Harry's version of “dressed down,” and Louis feels a bit self conscious in his Adidas sweats and an I Heart London hoodie that he purchased one drunken night after he lost his jacket (it later turned out it wasn't actually lost, just borrowed by Liam who somehow forgot he put it on after doing some shots of tequila). Harry's hair is falling in pretty little waves across his shoulders. Louis’ disaster of a fringe is sticking up at odd angles and Louis gave up after three minutes of fighting with it. Louis looks a few steps shy of the walk of shame. Harry looks ready to go to a Parisian cafe and sip espresso while talking postmodern literature.

“Ready to go?” Harry asks, smiling his dimply smile. “I'm sure they'll have waffles again.”

Louis forces it all down again, smiling back and standing up. “Yeah, let's go.”

They head to the elevator and travel back down to the main floor. The room is already pretty full of people when they arrive. The brunch spread is a bit more extravagant than the breakfast one. All of the usual favorites are there, Louis eyeing up the waffle station hungrily, but there's also chicken, some kind of ziti dish, a small salad bar, and a whole table of mimosas.

Louis and Harry split up to get their food. Louis makes his way back to the waffles, unable to say no, and piles his plate with bacon and some chicken and gets a small bowl of fruit salad like that justifies the carbs he's about to ingest.

Unsurprisingly, Harry went for more bananas. He also has a plate of eggs and toast, and took the liberty of getting Louis a mimosa as well as one for himself.

“That's an interesting combination,” Harry says, pointing out the chicken and waffles on Louis’ plate.

“Wait, you've never had chicken and waffles before?” Louis asks, his eyes going comically wide.

It works because Harry laughs. “No, is it a thing?”

“Oh my God,” Louis says, starting to cut into it. “My mate from back home, Stan, studied in America for a few months. I think it's a thing in the south there. But it'll change your life, I swear.”

Louis spears a bite of waffle and chicken onto his fork, then swirls it in the little cup of syrup he'd gotten for himself. He holds out his fork for Harry, expecting him to just pull it off, or maybe dump it on his own plate. He's not expecting Harry to lean forward and eat the bite right off of Louis’ fork.

Louis’ brain short circuits. He watches Harry chew the food, his strong jaw working, the way he closes his eyes as he takes it in. When he opens them again, he's nodding and grinning. “I see what you mean. That is good.”

“Right?” Louis croaks out, coughing to cover up the fact that his mouth is dry and he's actually dead. “Sweet and savory. You can't beat it.”

Harry smiles and returns to his eggs. “You're funny,” is all he says.

Louis goes back to his food and starts shoveling it in, anything to keep from staring at the way Harry is eating a banana. Louis knows it's not hard to make eating a banana look pornographic, the phallic shape and all, but Harry has turned it into an actual work of art. Louis watches from the corner of his eye how he slowly undoes the peel, then wraps his mouth around the fruit and takes these large bites. He does this way slower than is strictly necessary and if this keeps up Louis is going be more than just a little bit hard. Louis could stop looking. He knows that. It's just, Harry has these amazingly _pretty_ lips. Ones that are great for eating bananas. Or other similarly shaped objects.

As they finish their food, Louis takes a moment to take in his surroundings. They're leaving soon, and Louis wants to appreciate this place. It really is a charming spot, all homey decor and warm lights and pleasant scents. He can see why Liam's company keep coming back here. He's going to miss it.

After Harry polishes off the last few swigs of his mimosa, they head back to their room. They're basically packed, but they do one last run through of the room checking for stray items that might have gotten lost in the bed covers or on the floor or in the bathroom.

Finally, it's time to say goodbye to their little suite. They each grab their bags and key cards and leave the room for the last time. Louis can admit it, he's a little sad.

The checkout process is easy. They hand over their cards to the lady at the front desk, this one a bit older named Eva, who asks them if they enjoyed their stay.

Louis nods and says, “Yes, absolutely. It was lovely.”

“I'm happy to hear that,” she says. She pulls a piece of paper from the printer next to her and slides it across the counter to Louis. “This is your receipt. Everything is already taken care of, of course, and a copy has been sent to Johnson and Patrick. However if there are any problems, this is a copy for your records.”

Louis takes the paper and slides it into his messenger bag. “Thank you, Eva. I suppose that's it, then?”

“Yes it is. You're all set! Safe travels!”

“Thank you! Have a wonderful day!” Harry replies.

Louis and Harry head outside to wait for the hired car to take them back to the port.

\---

Things aren't awkward, per se. And it's not like Harry is actively _not_ talking to him. It's just, Harry also seems to kind of not be talking to him.

They're on the train headed back to London. Louis didn't think too much of it on the ferry back to Holyhead. They're both tired, after all, and they ate a lot at brunch. Maybe Harry was just sleepy. Or lethargic.

Now, though, they're an hour into their train back to London and Harry still isn't talking to him. It's not like Friday, when they barely knew each other and couldn't even really be in the same space for too long without being snippy. Things are different now. They're better. Louis knows that Harry really likes bananas, blouses, and public sex. Harry knows that Louis smokes and has terrible eating habits and mentors teenagers. They know _each other_.

That's why, sitting next to Harry on the train and knowing that he could talk to him, even though he really can't, is tough. Because he doesn't want to make the first move. What if he misread everything?

Louis’ thoughts occupy him the whole trip back to London. Harry is engrossed in his book and has his headphones on. Louis is jittery and uncomfortable. The worst part is that Harry catches Louis looking at him a few times, and he just gives him the most genuine smile before going back to his book. Harry's not mad at him, then. So what is it?

Eventfully the train pulls to a stop, the car shuddering as it breaks, and their fellow travelers start to gather their things. Harry reaches up to the compartment housing their bags and hands Louis his with a smile. Louis smiles back as best he can but he knows it doesn't reach his eyes. He can't explain it. He's just… _sad_. And he's not entirely sure what about.

Just as a car picked them up from home, a car is waiting to take them home. It's not Rob, unfortunately. Louis would have welcomed the chatter to fill the empty silence. Harry is quiet, looking out the window as the car navigates London evening traffic. He looks like he is straight out of a movie montage, all serene as he looks at the passing buildings and people. All they need is some background music.

When the car pulls up in front of their building, the driver helps them unload their bags. He idles in front of the curb until Louis unlocks the front door, then drives away. Soon enough, Harry and Louis are are back in the vestibule together, just like only a few weeks ago, but the circumstances have changed. Louis couldn't wait to get rid of Harry then. And now?

It's started to rain outside, the drops hitting the door in a little _pitter patter_ rhythm. The two stand opposite each other, Louis’ back to his flat door and Harry's to the stairwell. For a moment, they just look at each other.

Finally, Harry breaks the silence: “I had fun.” He grins a small smile and shrugs. “I really did. I wasn't sure if I would but, we did alright, didn't we?”

Louis wants to tell him no, they didn't do alright, they did _better_ than alright. In spite of all the signs to the contrary, the two of them work.

Louis doesn't say any of that, though. Instead he just nods and smiles. “Yeah. We did alright.”

Harry laughs and runs a hand back through his hair. “Well, I'd better head up. Back to work tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Louis agrees. “Yeah, me too.”

Harry holds out his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Louis.”

A handshake? Louis thinks they're beyond handshakes by now. But maybe not. Maybe Harry doesn't think so. So Louis does the only thing he can. He shakes Harry's hand and says, “It was nice meeting you too, Curly.”

They break apart and Harry readjusts his bag on his shoulder. “I'll see you around, Lou.” Then he spins around and starts up the stairs, taking them two at a time. Louis waits until he is completely alone in the vestibule, until he hears Harry's door open and shut behind him, before he leans back against his door and lets out an exhausted, “Fuck.”

He allows himself fifteen seconds of moping before he turns around, unlocks his flat, and steps inside.

His flat is exactly the same as he left it. His Rovers jacket is still thrown across his arm chair. There's still a pile of junk mail on his counter. The curtains are still thrown wide open so Louis can see the rain hitting the windows.

And yet, everything is different. Or at least, Louis is different.

He begins the process of unpacking, tossing dirty clothes in the hamper next to his bathroom and shoving unworn ones back into his dresser. He puts his bathroom stuff back in the bathroom. He throws his weekender back in his closet.

And then he has nothing to do.

He knows he should see about dinner. He hasn't had anything since brunch. He should get a takeaway menu and order something. He calls Liam instead.

Louis is greeted by two voices on the other end of the line. He hears both Liam and Niall yell out, “Hey Tommo!”

“Hey lads,” he says. “What's up?”

Liam answers, “Not much. Soph is having dinner with her parents so Niall and I ordered a pizza. Are you home?”

“Yeah,” Louis says. “We just got back.”

“How was it?” Niall asks. Louis can hear the unmistakable snap of a tab on a can.

“Good,” Louis says. “The B&B was really nice. Dinner was great.”

“And how was Harry?” Liam asks.

What a loaded question that is, Louis thinks to himself. “He was Harry,” he settles on.

“What does that mean?” Liam asks. “You didn't kill him, right? I'm not going to need to find another tenant, right?”

Louis chuckles. “Harry is safe in his flat as we speak,” he says. He sighs and looks up at his ceiling. “We had a good time. Harry's nice.”

There's silence on the other end of the line. At first Louis thinks the call has disconnected. He glances at the screen and sees that the call is still going, though.

“Boys?” he prods.

“Are you alright, Louis? You sound… Sad.” Liam asks, his voice concerned. Damn Liam and his empathy.

“Yeah!” Louis says, a bit too high pitched to be entirely convincing.

He hears the crinkling of a bag in the background, probably Niall eating crisps, and then, “Tommo probably just misses his boyfriend.”

Louis almost drops his phone. He hears the unmistakable slap of skin against skin and then Niall’s indignant, “ _The fuck, Liam_?”

Louis hears a bit more shuffling on the other end of the line before Liam comes back. “Ignore him,” he says.

“No no,” Louis insists. “Ni, what did you mean?”

“Niall, don't you fucking dare-” Liam starts.

“Shall I tell him, Payno?” Niall asks, sounding smug.

“One of you better fucking tell me what you're going on about,” Louis cuts in, irritated.

He hears Niall chuckle in the background and Liam lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I don't want you to be pissed.”

“I'm already pissed, Liam,” Louis says. “Just tell me what Niall meant.”

Liam sighs again. “Okay but, I just want to remind you that you're my best friend and I just want you to be happy.”

“Uh huh,” Louis says, feeling on edge. “Go on.”

“So what happened, was. Well, when I got the trip from work and found out Sophia and I couldn't go, I really wanted to give it to both you and Harry. I couldn't choose between you.”

“Okay,” Louis says slowly, waiting for more.

“I've wanted to introduce you to Harry for months. I thought you'd get on really well. But I knew you'd never go for it. And I knew you wouldn't let me set you up on a blind date. So when the trip came up, I thought it'd be the perfect way to get you and Harry to meet. Have you both hunt down this limited edition comic. Because I figured you might cross paths. And if you didn't, no harm no foul.”

Louis’ head is spinning. “You set us up?” he concludes.

“Only to try to get you to meet!” Liam clarifies. “I didn't know you'd…argue. And that neither of you would budge on giving up the trip.”

“Seriously, Liam?” Louis says, exasperated. “You were fucking with us this whole time?”

“No!” Liam exclaims, now sounding upset.

“Here's what Liam is trying to say, very badly, I might add,” Niall pipes in. “He wanted you and Harry to meet but he didn't mean to put you in an uncomfortable situation. But once you agreed to share the trip, he hoped that you'd get along as well as he thought you would. And you did. Didn't you, Louis?”

Louis bites his lower lip. Niall’s tone at the end there was a little too knowing and accusatory for Louis’ liking. “What's that supposed to mean, Niall?”

“You like Harry,” Niall says simply. “Liam was right. You do get on. Once you got your head out of your arse, you really liked him. And I'm sure Harry likes you too.”

“I'm sorry, Louis,” Liam says quietly, and fuck he sounds like a kicked puppy. Louis hates it when Liam feels bad. It's like yelling at a golden retriever.

Louis takes a breath and shuts his eyes. “I'm not mad,” he admits. “I'm not. I promise.”

“Really?” Liam asks, sounding unconvinced.

“Yes,” Louis affirms. “I'm a little irritated that you tried to play matchmaker. But,” he says, biting the bullet, “you were right. Harry and I do get on.”

“Ha!” Niall shrieks and Louis grimaces, his right ear ringing. “I knew it. You like him.”

“I do,” Louis admits.

“So why are you sad?” Liam asks.

“I told you,” Niall groans. “He misses his boyfriend.”

“Harry isn't my boyfriend,” Louis says.

“Semantics,” Niall brushes him off. “Why don't you ask him out?”

Louis sighs. “He barely talked to me on the way home. He just read and listened to music the whole way.”

“Maybe he was sad, too. About your trip being over,” Niall says. “Did you try talking to him?”

“No.”

“Oh Jesus Christ,” Niall says, grunting out a disbelieving huff of air. “So you think he doesn't like you because he didn't talk to you? Maybe he thinks you don't like him because you didn't talk to him!”

Louis shakes his head even though his friends can't see it. “I don't know.”

“Oh come off it, Louis,” Niall says. “You're not shy. Don't play hard to get. Hang up, march upstairs, and go get your Disney prince.”

“Niall!” Liam hisses.

Louis pauses, listening to his two friends bicker back and forth. He thinks the phone falls to the floor at one point. In the meantime, he has an epiphany.

He's not sure what's stopping him. He had been so focused on this being the end that he hadn't given any thought to what would happen after. That it didn't have to be the end. That he could change that.

“Lads,” he says into his phone. Then, when he gets no reply, “ _Lads_!” He waits until the scuffling stops. “I gotta go.”

The last thing he hears before he ends the call is Niall call out, “Go get ‘im, tiger!”

Louis drops his phone to his kitchen counter and scurries out of his flat. He doesn't bother locking his door behind him, he's only going upstairs, after all. He climbs the stairs, every nerve in his body heightened as he gets closer and closer to Harry's door. He really has no clue what he's going to say. He's always been an off-the-cuff kind of guy. He wants to be eloquent, but he knows he's probably just going to come off like a total freak.

It's a risk he's willing to take. So he knocks on the door.

He hears footsteps coming towards the door, a pause, and then it swings open to reveal Harry.

Louis has to take a moment to just look Harry over. He's still in his clothes from the day, but his shoes are off revealing fuzzy blue socks. He's also pulled his hair up into a bun. He looks like the perfect human blanket.

He looks surprised to see Louis, but happy. “Louis, hey,” he says. “Everything alright?”

Louis could probably think of a better segue into this, but he's not known for beating around the bush, so he blurts out, “Do you have plans for dinner?”

He can already feel his cheeks blushing furiously. He hates himself a bit for his lack of tact, but the tension in his chest eases up a little when he hears Harry bark out a laugh.

When Louis looks at Harry's face, his eyes are shining and his dimples are fully on display. He leans against his doorway, looking at Louis with a face a mixture of fond and disbelief.

“Is this you asking me out?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

Louis laughs a shaky laugh and looks up to the ceiling. “So it turns out my mate Liam is a massive twat. He wanted us to meet so he set the whole comic book thing up.” Harry's eyes widen at Louis’ words. “He said he thought we'd get along really well but knew we'd never agree to meet on our own. He says he wasn't planning on us going on the trip together, but essentially he's okay that we did because it still forced us to meet.”

Harry stands up straight again. He runs his palms over the thighs of his jeans and chuckles. “Wow. I didn't see that one coming.”

“I know,” Louis agrees. “But the thing is, no matter how it happened, I'm really glad it did.” He has to ignore how Harry's eyes light up. “I'm really glad it did because I want to hear more about Ringo and Daisy and Beckham and all of the other animals you take care of. And I want to learn why you refused to eat the raspberry chocolate at the tasting yesterday. And I want to take you to dinner.”

It's weird, Louis thinks absently, about how terrifying and completely liberating telling the truth can be. He figures that fighting through the fear is worth it, though, for the way Harry's face almost splits in half with his smile. He starts laughing and Louis can't help but laugh with him.

“I want to hear more about your kids at work and Tommy,” Harry finally says. “I want you to tell me how you got that scar on your right hand. And I'd love to go to dinner with you.”

A burst of happiness shoots through Louis, making him giddy and a little daring, which is how he has the balls to ask his next bold question: “Can I kiss you?”

Harry looks contemplative for half a second. He doesn't reply, just leans in and kisses Louis.

Harry's lips are soft and he still smells like cinnamon, but mostly Louis notices how good this feels. Safe. Harry bends down just a bit as Louis comes up slightly on his toes. He can feel Harry smiling against his lips as he presses short, quick kisses to his mouth. Louis brings a hand to the side of Harry's head and feels a little bit of stubble as he runs his fingers back, back, back; back into Harry's hair pulled into the bun. He runs his fingers through the little poof of hair. It's as soft as he remembered it feeling against his neck this morning, but also a million times better because right now, Harry is giggling into his mouth and Louis can't believe just fifteen minutes ago he was willing to let this go.

Louis pulls back first, his fingers still in Harry's hair, a few tendrils coming loose from the tie. Harry is beaming down at him and Louis feels like he's lit from within, like the sun is shooting rays of light and warmth out and illuminating the two of them, still standing in Harry's doorway. Harry is looking at him like he's the sun, too. The sun. The moon. Maybe the whole universe.

Louis lets out a short laugh, blushing when Harry runs a ringed finger over his chin. “I wasn't sure if that would be too forward for the first date,” he says, flushing a bit and still so caught up in having Harry in front of him and looking at him like that.

Harry laughs too and moves his hand to cup the back of Louis’ neck. He shrugs and shoots a wicked grin at Louis. “Well, to be fair, we've already spooned, so I think it's okay.”

Then he leans in and kisses Louis again.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr as nooelgallagher.


End file.
